


What Doesn't Kill You

by da_petty



Series: Den of Iniquities [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alpha John Watson, Alpha Sherlock Holmes, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Ankle Cuffs, BAMF John Watson, Bars and Pubs, Bathing/Washing, Becca!, Blood and Gore, Blood and Torture, Bottom John Watson, Bottom Sherlock Holmes, Boys Kissing, Breeding Stands, Broken Bones, Brothels, Captain John Watson, Concussions, Cuddling & Snuggling, Date Rape Drug/Roofies, Depression, Developing Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Dildos, Doctor/Patient, Drugged Sex, Enemas, Established Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Faux Heat, First Kiss, First Time Blow Jobs, Forced Prostitution, Hand Jobs, Heavy Drinking, Homeless Network (Sherlock), Homophobic Language, Hospital Sex, Hospitalization, Hurt Sherlock Holmes, Improper Use of Mortician's Table, Irritatingly Perky Character - I'm looking at you, John Watson Takes Care of Sherlock Holmes, John Watson is a Good Doctor, John Watson is a Good Friend, Licking, Light Angst, Light Bondage, Loss of Virginity, Lube, M/M, Mates, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Medical Procedures, Medical Torture, Minor Original Character(s), Murder, Mycroft Being Mycroft, Mycroft Being a Good Brother, Mycroft's Meddling, Needles, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, OOC Moment Of Weakness, Object Insertion, Omega Verse, Original Character(s), Out of Character, Promises, Protective Big Brother Mycroft, Protective Mycroft, Rape/Non-con Elements, References to Knotting, Revenge, Scenting, Scotland Yard, Self-Doubt, Self-Hatred, Sex Club, Sexual Slavery, Sexual Violence, Sherlock Holmes Has Feelings, Sherlock Holmes on a Case, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson in Love, Shocked Mycroft Holmes, Shocked Sherlock Holmes, Sounding, Spreader Bars, Stitches, Suicidal John, Surgery, Threats of Violence, Top John Watson, Top Sherlock, Unwitting Participant in Rape, Virgin Sherlock Holmes, secret rooms, seriously a lot of blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-15
Updated: 2019-12-16
Packaged: 2020-01-13 17:10:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 39
Words: 92,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18473383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/da_petty/pseuds/da_petty
Summary: Captain John Watson is an Alpha who was invalided out of the service six months ago. He finally found a job at St Bart's and although he hates it, it's the only thing that keeps him going - barely.Sherlock Holmes is an Alpha detective working with NSY to break up a sexual slavery ring working out of London.They're both looking for a flatmate and Mike Stamford wants them to meet. The meeting doesn't go as planned...





	1. John Watson

**Author's Note:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: Rape and Suicidal Thoughts. Please read the tags.
> 
> This is the story that I joined AO3 to write. Although I've had the outline worked out for over a year, I've never been able to start it. Probably not having written anything in over 10 years might have something to do with it.
> 
> This is different than my usual fics. It's dark. There isn't any comedy and it's not a happy story. Having said that, though, I can guarantee you that it will have a happy ending. 
> 
> It's set in the Omegaverse but it's only used to drive the plot. So if you're looking for a fic focused around mating and sex, it'll be there but it's incidental to the story. It's basically a revenge fic.
> 
> Tags will change as the story progresses.

John sat on his bed, staring at the clock on the nightstand waiting for the alarm to go off so that he could head to work. He did this every day, all day and most of the night. He rarely slept for more than 20 minutes at a time, he knew that for a fact. The clock had shown him that. 

When he’d finally found work at Saint Bart’s Hospital it was as much of a relief to his wallet as to himself. Until then, he’d only sat on his bed without purpose. Uncaring of the time because time didn’t matter when you had no purpose in life. Other than killing time and John was very good at killing time.

He mainly spent his days holding his gun in his lap, deciding whether or not today was the day that he’d finally eat a bullet. It was only a matter of time, after all. He set the gun aside and continued to brood.

It was the one bit of control that he had over his life and he was dragging it out, enjoying the suspense. Would today be the day that he’d finally do it. Just couldn’t take it anymore and blew his brains out? He suspected that he’d probably do it after he’d had a particularly good day. Go out on a high note. 

He wasn’t afraid to die. He’d been dead before when he’d been shot but they’d brought him back. Once he realized that his days as a surgeon were over, he found that he greatly resented this ‘gift.’ Why couldn’t they have just let him go. Not that he’d told his therapist about any of this. He’d be sectioned and they’d definitely take his gun. He loved that gun. No one was taking his gun. It was his ticket out of here.

And, so he didn’t bare that part of his soul to anyone. He hadn’t contacted any of his old friends since he’d been back. He was different now. No longer lighthearted, happy go lucky John Watson. The idea of being around friends from the military rehashing old memories, or old friends who couldn’t possibly - luckily - have any idea what it was like to watch another soldier slip beneath your hands while assuring them that they’d be ok. So many soldiers…

It was times like these that he wished for a revolver. Put a bullet in the chamber, spin the barrel and see what happened. That was hard to do with a clip. Even if you only put one bullet in, you always knew where it was in the stack. It was never random. First one in, first one out. Took all the fun of blowing the back of your head off.

He’d stayed with Harry when he’d first returned from Afghanistan. That had been a disaster. Not that that had been a surprise; he’d expected that, but he’d been desperate for a place to stay until he could get his finances in order and had gone to her, hat in hand, asking if she’d let him kip on her couch for a month or two. Just until his pension started coming in. Then he’d be on his way. Unfortunately, the price for being allowed to kip on his sister’s couch was to listen to her drunkenly rant about her wife leaving her because she liked to have “a little drink now and again.” He was surprised that Clara had lasted as long as she had. Hope springs eternal, he thought.

John had been back for six months, the last two of which he’d spent working at St. Bart’s. The job was boring. Then again, after combat, everything was boring.

Still, treating colds, flus, and injuries was repetitive, mindless work. Although John was a natural caretaker; he truly enjoy helping people. It was just…monotonous. Yes. That was it. Same thing everyday; only the faces changed. It wasn’t like he was saving lives anymore. 

Just as he was reaching for his gun again, his mobile rang. It was sitting next to his gun so he picked it up without thinking. He usually didn’t answer his mobile but his hand had already been on its way to his gun and decided, independently of John’s brain, to pick up the mobile.

“John! I’ve been trying to reach you! How are you?” Mike Stamford shouted down the line, his smile clearly audible, but there was something else. An undertone of worry, maybe? 

“I’m fine, Mike. I was actually getting ready to go to work,” John said, giving his gun a resigned glance. ‘Maybe tonight.’

“We’re both at St Bart’s but we’ve yet to get together outside of work.” Mike said with somewhat exaggerated joviality. Almost as if he was afraid of scaring John off.

“Well, I’ve been busy. Looking for a more affordable flat, possibly with a flatmate already attached. But who’d want to live with someone like me? Night terrors, crippled…I’m not optimistic about finding someone. Hell, I’m not optimistic in general. I might actually have to leave London. It’s so bloody expensive to live here.” 

John had no idea why he was telling Mike all of this. It was more vulnerability than he’d shown since being invalided out of the service. Except for Ella, his therapist. He threw her a bone here and there just to keep her off his back. 

Therapy was a government mandate; disabled vets were required to make regular visits to a designated therapist experienced with treating veterans who’d seen combat. It was non-negotiable - if he wanted to keep drawing a pension, that is. So, he fed her just enough to make her think that he was recovering, although he wasn’t sure she believed him. 

She kept giving him ridiculous tasks. John knew it was just busy work. Lately she’d been harping on keeping a blog. About what? His exciting life? His constant battle to keep a gun out of his mouth? No. That was no one’s business but his own.

He knew what was wrong with him. Wasn’t that supposed to cure you? What else was there? That he felt guilty about seeing people die no matter how hard he’d tried to save them? Some at his own hands. Survivor’s guilt. Yeah, yeah, yeah. Good luck fixing that. At least he only had another three months to go. Assuming she gave the higher-ups the all clear. If it hadn’t been for that, he would have just sat there in silence for an hour every week until his time was up…

“I’m sorry, what?” John was pulled out of this depressing revery by Mike saying his name.

“I said that it’s funny you should say that you’re looking for a flatmate. Someone else said the very same thing to me earlier today. Right down to the “difficult to live with” comment. You two should meet. I think you’d be perfect for each other.”

“Well, I don’t know…” John hedged.

“This is the perfect opportunity for us to get together. It’s Friday and we’re off until Monday. What better way to start the weekend than a visit to the local pub, and enjoy a pint with an old mate? And I can tell you all about Sherlock…”

“”Sherlock?” Is that his last name?”

“No. No. His last name is Holmes. He’s quite brilliant, actually. And an Alpha. No messy pheromones to clutter your brain. Do something different and say ‘yes’ for a change. It’s not doing you any good staying in day and night, only leaving the flat to go to work. What do you say? We can go to Bartleby’s My treat!”

“Bartleby’s? Don’t know that one.”

“You really HAVE stayed in too much. It’s only a block or so away from Bart’s. It’s a popular gathering place for people getting off from work at the hospital.”

“I really don’t feel like company, Mike. And I don’t want to talk shop.”

“No worries. I’ll keep the wolves at bay. So, what do you say? There will be plenty of Omegas and Betas there…”

“Are you insinuating that I need a good shag?” John laughed.

“Time for Three Continents Watson to get back into the saddle again. Being an Alpha automatically attracts Betas and there’s always a chance that you might meet a willing Omega. When was the last time that you slept with one of those?”

John ran a hand through his hair, thinking. He’d never been with an Omega before. Betas were readily available; eager to hook up with an Alpha. Getting together with an Alpha was quite the status symbol. Omegas, on the other hand, could afford to be choosey. They were in high demand. Sex with an Omega was supposed to be unbelievable.

“A lot longer than I’d care to admit,” he lied. “A pint would be good. Maybe some social intercourse would get me out of this funk I’ve been in lately.” John laughed.

“Great! I’ll stop by the clinic after work and we can walk there together.”

“Ok. Sure. Why not.”

“See you at half six! Bye!”

“See you.” John rang off and looked down at the mobile in his hand wondering how the hell he’d let himself get talked into going out. A drink would be good, though. Sex with an Omega? Even better. Hell, sex in general would be good. It really had been a long time.

The alarm went off telling him that it was time to head out. He silenced it, giving his gun a cursory glance. After a moment of debate on whether or not it was advisable to take it with him, he shrugged, picked it up, made sure the safety was on, and tucked it into the back of his trousers. He went through this every day; ‘Should I take it? Should I leave it?’ So far, his need for the comfort of having the gun outweighed the illegality of carrying it. 

He decided that he’d stop obsessing over killing himself and take a break for a night. What’s the worst thing that could happen?

John stood up, pasted on a happy face, and headed to work.


	2. Tommy Visits NSY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tommy, a drug dealer and brother of the brothel owner, has the good fortune to be in NSY at the same time as Sherlock talking at Lestrade. When he hears that this man is planning to go undercover that night and investigate the brothel, he takes off to tell his brother so that he can tell him what to do. Tommy is a wuss and a loser.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock still haven't met yet but the dominoes are lined up and ready to be knocked over.

Tommy had been pulled in for dealing again. At 22, he was well on his way to becoming a career criminal. As he wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed, his older brother, Chris, looked out for him. Chris was the brains of the outfit. He ran a popular brothel out of Bartleby’s Pub. Well, technically it was next door but it was common for gents leaving the pub to make an immediate left and enter his brother’s establishment. 

They called it Bartleby’s Club. Tommy thought that very clever and admired his brother for thinking of it. Tommy hoped to run the place one day but it wouldn’t be for several years yet. He didn’t kid himself into thinking that he was ready to be in charge right now. He knew that he’d only fuck everything up. He’d get there though. Chris said so and Chris was always right.

***

‘B-Club,’ as it was known to its customers, had a symbiotic relationship with Bartleby’s. No matter which business a customer went to first, they almost always visited the sister establishment next door. Not that the pub owner, Wayne, made the relationship public. He wasn’t getting thrown in the dock for running a prostitution ring. He neither told the customers about the place nor recommended it to them. They seemed to find out easily enough on their own though, either via a mate or just plain old curiosity. And then there was the smell that wafted from the brothel into the pub. That was difficult for an Alpha to miss, apparently. 

Wayne didn’t approve of B-Club but he liked the money that he made by association. He liked it too much to pretend to be indignant, so he just looked the other way. Good business, that. And if his conscience bothered him at times, well, the profit made any lingering guilt quickly disappear. 

Most of the pub’s clients were people just off work from St Bart’s. Doctors, nurses, clerks, everyone visited sooner or later. Friday’s and Saturday’s were Wayne’s most profitable days. It was early yet on Friday night, so the pub was fairly empty except for the regulars. Every day was a Friday to them. 

Bartleby’s clientele was probably 75% Alphas with money to burn. B-Club catered to Alphas on the pull so this dynamic was very profitable. Especially since Alphas attracted Betas and the occasional Omega, to the pub like a bee to honey. To bag an Alpha, even for a one night stand, elevated a Beta’s status in their group. And everyone loved to hear their story. How they did it. How did they manage to catch an Alpha’s attention? What was their secret? 

Omegas, on the other hand, well, anyone who was lucky enough to fuck one, even for a quickie, became the celebrity of the moment. Even Alphas would step down off of their high horses and brag about fucking an Omega. 

Omegas were very rare. So rare in fact, that most Alpha’s eventually settled for/down with a Beta and hoped for Alpha and/or Omega offspring. There just weren’t enough Omegas to go around. If you couldn’t mate with one, the next best thing was to produce Omega offspring. That was rare too, though. Most Alpha/Beta unions produced either Alpha and/or Beta children and they were happy to have them. And if they were a little happier to have an Alpha rather than a Beta, no one mentioned it. 

Two Betas canceled each other out, though. It was extremely rare for two Betas to produce any children other than more Betas. The random Alpha and Omega did occasionally occur but that became an instant media circus. A one in a million birth that the public felt as if they owned and so that child, who was under continuous scrutiny and pressure, became a nervous adult, constantly looking over their shoulder, afraid of being used just for their sex and not being seen, much less valued, as a person. No. You did NOT want to be a one in a million child.

Wayne had never stepped foot into B-Club or even talked to the owner or employees. As far as he was concerned, they didn’t exist. Fortunately, his patrons talked - a lot - and often regaled him with stories of the wild things that happened there. 

So, although Wayne prided himself on being above that tawdry type of business, he did love gossip and there was no harm listening to customers talk about their day then, was there? And if the brothel next door was mentioned, well, what was Wayne supposed to do? He listened to them, perhaps a little too avidly, but it was part of the job description - listen to your customer’s troubles, offer sage advice, and most importantly, always keep their glasses full. He was just doing his job, like any proper barkeep, that was all.

Wayne had been told that B-Club was the place to go if you wanted to fuck an Omega. Not that there were any “real” Omegas there. The prostitutes were Betas tricked out to smell like an Omega in heat. Wayne, being a Beta, couldn’t tell an Alpha from an Omega scent wise, but the Alphas sure could and the more they drank, the more they were drawn to B-Club. Very few Alphas had the self-control to go directly home after a heavy night of drinking at the pub. Most were drawn next door by the tantalizing scent of an Omega in heat. Wayne wasn’t normally a very covetous person. He was well satisfied with his life, but sometimes he wanted to know what it was like. Just once…

***

Tommy was returning his keys and wallet that the desk sergent had thrust across the counter, into his pockets when he looked up and caught a glimpse of a tall man with curly dark hair. He was shouting at an Inspector who just looked at him with a bemused expression. The man seemed to be a bit of a nutter. His hair was greasy and the gray hoodie and joggers that he wore could definitely use a wash. 

He was waving his hands about in an agitated manner, the volume of his voice increasing as he became frustrated. Tommy expected the Inspector to give him the heave ho at any minute but instead, he just listened to him and waited patiently for the ranting to stop.

Tommy had never seen a copper act so patient with a random citizen, much less one so clearly out of his mind. And in his own office, no less. Tommy began walking casually away from the sergeant’s desk, nonchalantly picking up a magazine as he went. He got within three rows of the excitement, close enough to hear but not necessarily appear suspicious. 

Again, Tommy wasn’t too bright. A person being released from lockup always made haste for the exit. Always. His taking a chair and flipping through a magazine was already gaining him attention from other officers in the pit, he was just too wrapped up in eavesdropping to notice.

***

“…and now I think I’ve found their base of operations. I just need to infiltrate it as a customer, get the proof and get out.”

“That’s great. And where is this den of sin, Sherlock? I’ll send a team in to back you up,” Lestrade said, already knowing that this was hopeless. Sherlock never accepted help. He always had to do things his way and if Lestrade tried to get the location out of him, Sherlock would just clam up, leave and then do whatever it was he had planned on doing anyhow. 

“I can’t tell you that until I’m sure that I have the right place. Having any of your idiots blundering around down there could jeopardize the case. I’ll check it out first and if it’s what I think it is, I’ll text you. Then your clown car full of police can pull up and finish the job that I started.” Sherlock said this as if it was perfectly reasonable that he dictate what part of the operation NSY could participate in. This was most likely due to the fact that it was true. 

Lestrade sighed. “Can you give me a hint as to the location then, so I can at least put something in my progress report?”

“It’s near Bart’s and is called the “B-Club.” Don’t bother looking it up. It’s a nickname. You won’t find it on Google Maps or in your local directory. I’ll investigate and then call you in if I think you can add something to the case.”

“Gee. You’re too kind,” Lestrade said sarcastically. 

“Yes. I am. But don’t get used to it. Now I’m off to clean up and make myself presentable. I wouldn’t make it past the bouncer looking like this,” he gestured down at his clothes.

“I was going to say that you were a little…ripe to be going to a whorehouse,” Lestrade said with a barely concealed grin.

“Of course I am! I’ve been working with my homeless network all day. You don’t go down into the sewers in a suit, Lestrade. Honestly.” Sherlock turned to leave, then paused.

“And by the way, it’s a brothel, not a whorehouse. No one uses that term anymore.” Then Sherlock turned and made a quick exit from the office, seeming to disappear as soon as he stepped outside.

“I must be out of my mind putting up with this nonsense…” Lestrade thought.

***

“OI! You!” 

Tommy gave a start and looked up to see a stern detective glaring down at him.

“Yeah? What?”

“Don’t get cheeky with me. Get your stuff and get out of here. Unless you’d like to spend another night in lockup.”

“No. No. I just got lost in this article.” Tommy looked down at what he’d been pretending to read.

“Wouldn’t have twigged you for a fan of Cosmo. What’s that you’re reading?” Donovan, her badge read, asked.

Tommy read the title of the article and gulped.

“Um…10 Ways To Please Your Man Orally.” 

“Well, good luck with that. No. No. Take that magazine with you. Looks like you need it more than we do. Now, get out.”

Tommy got out.

***

As soon as Tommy had heard “B-Club” and that, Sherlock? (What kind of name was Sherlock?) would be going there tonight under cover, he’d been paralyzed with fear. So afraid that he hadn’t even noticed that detective bearing down on him. 

He’d rolled the magazine up, shoved it under his arm and bustled out of the office without looking back. Passing a bin, he walked back and with barely a pause, shoved the magazine inside and hurried on. He had to tell Chris! He’d know what to do!


	3. Bartelby's

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Mike hit the local pub.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys! I just realized that I posted the same chapter twice and no one mentioned it. It was probably due to my amazing writing capabilities that no one said anything because they were happy to read it again. ;)
> 
> I've put the correct chapter in now. Sorry about that.
> 
> I didn't edit or Brit-pick this one. I'm late for an appointment because I kept working on this one and wanted to post it before I left. Please forgive the mistakes that I'm sure are in here.

John had just finished writing his final report for the night and was hurriedly packing up so that he could get out of there before Mike showed up. He didn’t want to go out and knew that once Mike saw him, he’d just cave in and go to the pub. He wasn’t in the mood for companionship. Besides, it’d been a long day and he was exhausted. Alcohol wasn’t going to do anything but make that feeling worse.

He put on his jacket and patted his pockets to make sure that he had his mobile and keys finishing up with a tap to his lower back confirming that his gun was still in place. 

You’d think that a gun shoved into the back of your trousers would be hard to miss but to John, who’d carried his weapon that way for a long, long time, it was just another part of his body. More than once, he’d panicked because he thought he’d left his gun at home only to find it comfortably nestled in the hollow of his lower back between his skin and his trousers. 

John looked up at the clock and was relieved to find that he’d be able to leave with fifteen minutes to spare before Mike was due to…

“John!”

Goddamn it!

“Mike. Hi. I was just getting ready to leave to meet you at Bartleby’s,” John lied.

“Yeah. I thought I might not have been clear about us walking there together so I thought I’d drop by earlier so that I could catch before you, ah, left to meet me there,” Mike said, giving John a level look. It was obvious that he’d anticipated John’s attempt to ditch him but he wasn’t going to come right out and say it. 

“Oh! Right! Sorry. My mistake,” John lied.

“Well, it’s all sorted now. Shall we go?”

John sighed. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.

***

Once Bartleby’s was in sight, John noticed that the entrance to the pub was already crowded. Good. They probably wouldn’t be able to get in and then he could beg off with a headache and go home.

“Is it normally this crowded?” John asked.

“Just on the weekends. No worries though. I put in a call to the owner earlier and asked if he’d reserve a table for us in the back and he was kind enough to oblige,” Mike finished with a smile.

“Oh. That’s great,” John said, attempting to return Mike’s smile but it came out looking more more like a grimace.

“Come on, John. It’ll be fun!” Mike clapped a hand on the back of John’s shoulder and none too subtilely used it to guide John to the entrance of the pub. 

John gave a mental shrug and resigned himself to the fact that this visit was now a done deal. He allowed himself to be pushed into the pub where Mike lead them straight to the bar.

“Mike! Good to see you! I have a table reserved for you in the back,” Wayne said, nodding his head towards a table that was out of the way of the main thoroughfare. 

“Thanks! Wayne, this is Doctor John Watson. John, this is Wayne.” Both men tilted their heads in acknowledgment of the introduction.

“Another doctor. I don’t think that I’ve ever seen you here before. You from St. Barts as well, then?” Wayne asked.

“Yes, but I’m new. I’ve only been there for two months,” John replied. He didn’t want to chat, he just wanted to sit down and get pissed.

“Two months! I’ve had docs come in here after only being on for a week! You have some catching up to do! What’ll you have?”

“The usual for starter for me. John?” Mike asked.

“Same.” John didn’t really care what he was drinking. He just wanted to sit down at their table and hide from the rest of the boisterous and obnoxiously happy, crowd.

“Brave man!” Said Wayne. “Why don’t you have a seat and I’ll send your server over with your drinks.

“Great, thanks!” Mike said. Giving another nod to Wayne, John followed Mike to their table, dragging his feet the entire way.

***

“Here you go, gents! Quite a way to start the night, eh? Name’s Sheila. Just lift a hand when you want another round and I’ll be right over.”

“Thanks, Sheila.” Mike said, turning to look at John, then looking at the shots lined up in front of them - four each. He looked back up at John meaningfully.

“Good lord. Shots? I thought we were just having a pint. Do you drink like this all the time? What does your wife think about that?” John asked.

“My wife’s a sweetheart and knows exactly where I am. And, no, I don’t drink like this all the time. I usually only order the “starter” if it’s been a particularly bad day.”

“Did you have a bad day then? What happened?”

“No, no. My day was just fine but you look like you’ve had a month of bad days so I figured that a “starter” was in order,” Mike replied.

“Well, you’re not wrong about that,” laughed John.

Mike raised the first shot glass and waited for John to do the same.

“Wait. What’s in these?” John asked.

“Absolutely no idea. I always let Wayne pick. The alcohol content in each is based on how much of a bad day he thinks you’ve had. Bottoms up!” Mike tilted the shot glass up and downed in one swallow. He gave a shudder. 

“That bad?” John asked.

“No. No. The first shot always hits me that way. Your turn.”

John held the glass up to his nose and sniffed.

“Jesus! This smells like you could clean paint brushes with this! How can you drink this stuff?” John exclaimed.

Mike, who had been ready to lift his second shot, paused and said,

“What do you mean? Mine wasn’t that strong.”

“Well, either you’re a raging alcoholic or Wayne thinks I’ve had a hell of a day.”

John held his shot glass out for Mike to take a sniff.

“Whoah! That’s straight whiskey! The alcohol content must be really high, if the smell is anything to go by. What did I tell you? Wayne is a master of his craft. Well? Drink up!” Then Mike picked up his second shot and downed it without a grimace.

John stared at the shot in his hand. He’d be drunk by the time he’d finished the third shot if the strength of this one was anything to go by.

“Well. Here goes nothing,” John said, dumping the contents of the glass into his mouth and swallowing. He slammed his glass on the table and felt a chill run up and down his spine followed immediately by a fit of coughing. 

John looked over at Wayne and gave him a glare but Wayne only gave him a placid look and returned to waiting on customers.

“That man’s trying to kill me!” John sputtered.

“Quit you’re crying. That was top shelf whiskey and you’ve had more than your fair share of crap drinks in the service. Where are your balls, man?!”

“I suspect that they’ve crawled up inside of me and I’m going to need forceps and a mirror to get them back down by the time this night is over,” John said, still gasping a bit.

“Well, at least you know they’re safe! Time to catch up! I’m getting ready for my third and you’ve still only had the one.” Mike, eyes already glassy, picked up the third shot and toasted John,

“To your health!” Then he knocked the shot back and slammed the third glass upside down on the table.

“Right. Ok.” John picked up his second shot planning to sniff it before he drank it.

“Ah. Ah. Ah! You’ll ruin the suspense! Just drink it!”

“Ok. Ok,” John said with a laugh then downed the second shot even faster than the first.

“UGH! Ouzo?! I hate licorice!! Gah! That was awful! I need water!” John began frantically looking around for Sheila who miraculously appeared bearing water.

“I thought that you might be needing some water right about now,” Sheila said, smiling as she placed the first glass in front of John.

“You’re an angel! Jesus Christ!” John exclaimed before picking up the ice cold water and drinking it without taking a breath until the glass was empty.

“More?” 

“Yes, please!”

Sheila poured John another glass and set Mike’s water down on the table in front of him.

“Will you be needing anything else right now, gentleman?” Sheila asked.

“Maybe a bucket,” John said under his breath.

“We’re fine for now. Thanks, Sheila!” Mike said

“Just let me know and I’ll bring the next round over,” Sheila said with a wink at John then turned and walked to another table full of customers.

“Another round?!” John exclaimed at Mike.

“You’re still behind, John. I’m already on number four. Better get moving!’ Mike said, picking up his final shot.

“God. You’re trying to kill me!” John said.

“You’re just out of practice. Time to get back on that horse!” Mike downed his last shot and stared pointedly at John.

“God. Ok. Let’s get this over with!” John said, lifting his third shot and tilted it into his mouth before he could think about it.

“Oh. FUCK ME!!” John choked out. “Jagermeister?! MORE licorice? Holy shit!” John bent over, coughing as if one of his lungs were about to come up.

“Water, John?” Mike said, pushing John’s water glass closer which John grabbed gratefully. 

“What’s that last one going to be? Turpentine?!” John complained, closing his eyes and taking a deep drink of water completely missing Mike nodding at Sheila for the next round of “starters.” 

Mike had never had two sets of “starters” before, but John looked like he needed it and this was the fastest way to get him to relax, loosen up and maybe talk about what was bothering him.

John sat up, eyes streaming, and saw Sheila heading over with another tray full of shots. He looked at Mike.

“Oh. Come on!”

Reaching their table, Sheila nodded a John’s last shot glass which was still full.

“Could you drink that, sweetheart so that I can clear the table and set these new drinks down.

“No. I don’t think I’ll be doing that,” John said drunkenly.

“But you’ve already got it in your hand, love,” Sheila said.

John looked at his hand where, sure enough, held the last shot. When the hell had he picked that up?

“Down the hatch!” Mike said.

John, trying to avoid getting any of the alcohol on his tastebuds, poured the drink directly into his throat. I didn’t help much though, he still wound up hacking and coughing.

“Vodka? Ack! Are these all going to be straight alcohol?”

“No. No,” Sheila said. This next batch are all mixed shooters.”

“Did we both get the same drinks this time or is Wayne still “treating” me for my “bad day?” John asked.

“You both have the same set now. See you soon,” Sheila said over her shoulder as she left.

“Not if I can help it,” John groused, looking at the first shooter in the new set of four.

“We’ll see what you’ll say at the end of this round,” Mike said, positively beaming at John.

Both lifting the first of the four shooters, John said,

“Harry’s my next of kin. I have a will too, ‘tho the loc…location ‘scapes me at the moment.” John said with a belch. “How rude! ‘Scuse me!”

“It’s all good, John.” 

They clinked their glasses and swallowed the alcohol down with nary a complaint.

“Tha’s good. Wuz that?” John slurred.

“Sex on the Beach, I believe,” said Mike, clearly more sober than John now.

“Sex on the Beach? God. I haven’t had sex on a beach in so long…” John reminisced.

“Well, drink up and then you can tell me all about it!” Mike said.

“You’re a good fren, Mike. Thanks for making me come out.” John raised the second shot to his lips, saying,

“To the bess fren a man e’vr had!” They clinked their glasses together and downed their drinks simultaneously.

“Wuz tha’ one? Iz kinda goopy.” 

“Jello shot, I think,” Mike replied.

“Uh…ok. Whatever. NEXT!” John said, picking up his third shot and knocking it back.

“Whoah! Wait for me!” Mike said with a laughed then downed his own drink.

“’Dunno what that one wuz? D’yuo?” John asked.

“No idea but I liked it!” Mike said, clearly drunk.

“Last one! Race you!” John yelled, picking up his drink and draining it in one gulp. He slammed the now empty glass upside down on the table where it promptly cracked.

“Uh, oh,” John whispered. “Hope daz not ‘spensive!”

“Don’t worry ‘bout it. I got it covered,” Mike said, catching Sheila’s eye and nodding that they were ready for more drinks.

“I luv you, Mike. S’rrsly. I reeely do.”

“Me too you as well,” Mike replied. “Ah! Our pints are here!”

“Finally!” John exclaimed while taking the glass from Sheila before she could set it down.

Once Sheila had gone, John leaned across the table and whispered confidentially,

“Now, tell me ‘bout this ‘lockhomes.”


	4. B-Club

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John finally catches the scent of an Omega in heat from somewhere nearby and asks Mike where it's coming from. Mike takes him to meet its maker. More exposition follows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh. This wasn't meant to be a long chapter but it just kept going. I tried breaking it up but there wasn't a clean place to do that so I left it alone. 
> 
> And, on a side note, looks like there will six or seven chapters instead of my original forecast of five. I've had this story in the back of my mind for so long that I guess the details are tired of waiting. The inmates are running the asylum!

***

“He’s a gee’nis,” Mike said.

“Yeah. Already know that one. What else?” John asked impatiently.

“He’s a detective who works with Scot Land Yard.”

“Think I already knew that one too.”

“He’s gor…gorge…beautiful. All alabaster skin and dark ringlets,” Mike said with a sigh.

“Iss startin’ ta sound like you have a crush…”

“Pfft. No way! Heez an Alpha! I’m an Alpha! I’m not a homosex…homosexu...I pra’fer the ‘possite sex. Nah tha’ there’s anyfing wrong wif being gay, mind, but there’s still a stig…a stig…astigmatism…”

“Stigma,” John supplied.

“Right. S’was what I said. Two Alphas together is jus’ askin’ for trouble,” Mike finished, proud of himself for finally getting the thought out there.

“Never would have taken you for a homophobe, Mike,” John said, disappointed.

“I’m not! Jus…who would want to bring that trouble on themselves? Better to stick with the opposite sex. Easy peezy,” Mike replied.

“Izz nah like you can chooz who yer ’tracted too, mate.”

“I know you’re right, it just gives one pause. I’m happily married to a Beta though so I don’t even know why we’re talking about this.” Mike was sobering up. Couldn’t have that!

“Another round for me and my mate here!” Mike yelled to the barmaid.

“Classy, Mike. Classy.” John said, gazing sadly into the bottom of his empty glass.

“You’re right. Make that two gin and tonics!” Mike yelled again.

“Gin and tonic? What? I can barely concentrate as it is.”

“That’s the problem!” Mike said as Sheila set the new drinks in front of them and put the empty glasses on her tray.

“You two aren’t driving, are you?” Sheila asked.

“Nah. Walked here. It’s fine,” Mike assured her.

“Oh. Well, if you need anything else, just let me know,” Sheila said, pushing the empty glasses to the middle of her tray so they didn’t go crashing to the floor.

“Yes, love. Keep ‘em coming, night’s young yet…” Mike said jovially. 

“Yes sir!”

Mike and John watched Sheila walk away and then looked down at their drinks. Sober John would have said that the quantity of what they were drinking plus mixing up all of those different types of alcohol, was a bad idea. 

Drunk John mentally poked around at his feelings. He wasn’t sad. Wait. He wasn’t sad. He was actually having a grand old time and he wanted to maintain that feeling, for a little while longer at least. He picked up his gin and tonic and said,

“To the man I’m going to name my hangover after tomorrow!” The clinked glasses and drank…and drank…and drank…

***

Two hours later…

John sat back with a sigh, and said,

“That’s it, mate. I’m all in. If I drink anymore I’m def’nitly gonna be sick.”

Mike saw the barmaid and covering the top of his empty glass with one hand, mimed signing a check with the other. Sheila nodded. No more drinks. Bill please. She headed back to the bar to total the tab they’d been running all night. It was going to be a doozy.

***

“Hey. Wha’s that? You smell that?” John asked.

“That’s jus’ B-Club,” Mike said, getting his wallet out.

“”B-Club?” No idea what that iz,” John said drunkenly.

“It’s the brothel next door, caters to Alphas looking to bang an Omega,” Mike said, taking the check from Sheila. 

“Uh oh. Sticker shock!” Mike said.

“Tha’ bad?” John asked worriedly.

“Nah, came in under budget, just…all those zeds, kinda shocking at first.

“Let me help,” John said, reaching for wallet. He didn’t have much but he could at least contribute to the cause. He hadn’t felt this good in almost a year. It was worth it. Then he caught that scent again. What was that? It smelled…delicious. He wanted to taste it. Roll in it until his body was covered in it.

“Your money’s no good here, John Watson,” Mike replied, beginning to count out the money.

“So…you were saying? There’s a brothel next door?” John said slowly hoping that he’d make sense.

“Oh, yeah. I’ve never been,” he pointed to the ring on his left hand, “Happily bonded AND married for over 20 years now. The scent doesn’t attract bonded Alphas although there are plenty of Alphas that don’t let anything like a bond stand in the way of their fun.” Mike finished stacking the money on the bill and nodded to the barmaid that the check was ready to be picked up.

“John! You should go!” Mike exclaimed.

“Nah. I couldn’t,” John protested half-heartedly. That scent was making him crazy and being one drink away from being black out drunk wasn’t helping the good decision making part of his brain, to come back online.

“Why not?” Mike said, leaning back in his chair as Sheila took the money and bid them good night.

“Well…” John began.

“You’re not worried about it being illegal, are you? Just a slap on the wrist. Wouldn’t even get a record.” Mike said.

“No. It’s not like I haven’t had the occasional prostitute, it’s just, I feel like I’m losing control.”

“Yeah. That’s the Omega pheromones they dose the Beta prostitutes with. It’s synthetic but close enough to the real thing to drive an unbound Alpha crazy.”

“Yes. Got that one already,” John said, covertly tugging his now too tight trousers away from his erection.

“So, go over then! You don’t need to go home just because I am. A shag would do you good and I hear that these are some of the best prostitutes money can buy. Not street walkers. High class Betas. Plus, there’s the occasional Beta who goes in there willingly just to have sex with an Alpha, no strings attached. You both pay to play and a good time will be had by all.”

“No condom,” John said, looking inside his wallet. He hadn’t needed one of those in quite awhile.

“No condom?!” Mike laughed. “They supply them in the rooms. It’s a business, after all. Go, it’ll do you good to spend a little more time not thinking about the serious stuff.”

“It does smell incredible!” John said, tugging on his trousers again.

“Yeah. I can see that,” Mike said with a nod towards where John’s hand was moving under the table.

“God! I’m sorry! I just can’t seem to control myself.” John exclaimed, embarrassed.

“No worries. That’s how they get their clientele. Go on. If you can’t have an Omega, a Beta who smells almost exactly like an Omega, is the next best thing.” Mike said, standing up.

“It’s not in the budget,” John said sadly, standing up as well.

“Budget? What budget? I already told you, John. This night is on me!”

“I don’t think your wife is going to care for this particular expense,” John said cautiously. He didn’t want to get his hopes up and he didn’t want to use his friend. And this definitely seemed like a huge imposition on their friendship.

“Naw, she’s good. She knew that you might want to go there. Recommended it, in fact,” Mike said, walking John to the exit. 

“You’re wife is amazing!” John said, truly awed.

“Yes she is. I’ll tell her you said so when I get home.” Entering the lobby of the brothel, Mike walked over to one of the bouncers and said that he wanted to speak to the manager.

The bouncer, acting like requesting to see the manager of the brothel was standard operating procedure, nodded and headed further inside the business.

“What are you doing?” John asked, somewhat nervously.

“Just making sure that you have a good time,” Mike said, clapping John on the shoulder. It was his bad shoulder but John didn’t even feel it. He might be a bit drunker than he’d thought.

A man walked out, hand already outstretched, and greeted them, introducing himself as “Chris.” All smiles and “nice to see new faces.” He was a tall man, blond hair, young. Possibly early thirties. Deceptively slight build. John unconsciously tensed, military training so deeply ingrained that, drunk or no, he knew a threat when he saw one. His hackles instantly rising but appearing outwardly calm, he took the hand that was proffered him and shook it. Inside, he felt coiled to strike, alcohol quickly burning off from all of the adrenaline now pumping through his veins.

“My friend John here, is recently returned home from service in Afghanistan and I’d like him to have a good time. A really good time. You don’t happen to have any Betas who aren’t prostitutes but are looking to shag an Alpha, would you?” Mike asked Chris.

“A prostitute won’t do?” Chris asked, taking no offense.

“No. A prostitute is fine but I thought that it might be a bit more…exciting to shag someone who was there for the same reason. If you take my meaning.”

“Ah. I see. Let me think…” Chris knew that his Betas prostitues were excellent but he could also understand the appeal of being with someone who wasn’t a pro. Someone who just wanted an anonymous shag with someone who was there for the same reason. Unfortunately, he didn’t have any Beta customers at the moment.

He was about to let them know that only prostitutes were available tonight when he glanced into the dark recesses of the Club and saw a well dressed young man with dark curly hair, currently chatting up one of the hostesses. 

‘Sherlock Holmes,’ he thought. Holmes had come in about an hour ago pretending to be a customer. He’d yet to chose a prostitute and was basically wasting everyone’s time asking questions. 

Chris supposed he was being subtle but since he’d already been on the lookout for the man, every move he made was obvious. He needed to get rid of him before he found what he was looking for. Yes. He might be able to solve both the problem of the lack of willing Beta and an annoying investigator at the simultaneously.

He nodded to the hostess to take Holmes upstairs, ostensively to pick out a Beta and a room. Sherlock agreed with alacrity. He had been starting to think that the people here knew what he was about.

Watching Holmes escorted upstairs and out of the way, Chris’ attention snapped quickly back to John and Mike.

“Well, we do have one Beta who fits the bill. We were just about to pair him with an Alpha so you’re in luck.”

“Great!” Mike smiled as he handed over his credit card to pay for the night. Chris produced a chip reader, seemingly out of thin air, and slid the card home. The device flashed “Transaction Approved” and Chris gave Mike’s card back to him which Mike then shoved haphazardly back into his wallet. 

“Ok, John. This is it! Enjoy yourself! Don’t worry about a thing. The night is paid for! Time to get home to the missus,” Mike said, turning to leave but John placed a hand on his forearm, pausing his departure.

“I just…I don’t know what to say. How to thank you for this night, all of it. You’ve no idea what great timing this was,” John finished sincerely.

Mike looked searchingly into John’s eyes and said,

“I do, mate. I do.” And then he was gone.

John turned back to Chris, still tense but without any idea why. He’d unconsciously straightened his stance to parade rest and stood there, waiting.

“I’d like to go over the details with you,” Chris began. At John’s nod, he continued,

“This Beta a man. Will that be a problem?” Chris asked unctuously.

“Not at all,” John said matter of factly.

“Well then, why don’t you take a seat at our bar while the hostess arranges for a room and the Beta can get himself ready.” Chris said, thinking quickly. There was one crucial bit of information that he needed to tell his client to appropriately set the stage.

“Oh,” Chris said as though he’d just remembered something, “I should tell you that he has a specific fantasy so if you’re not interested in playing along, I’m sure that you’ll still enjoy time spent with one of our excellent employees.”

“And that fantasy is?” John asked matter of factly.

“He has a bit of a masochistic streak. He’s requested that he be tied down to a breeding stand while wearing a blindfold and gag and then roughly taken and knotted. Is that something that interests you?” Chris asked, watching John closely.

“Not a rape fantasy then? I’m not really into those,” John replied thinking that this was the strangest sexual transaction that he’d ever been a party to. Just nonchalantly discussing another person’s fantasies in the lobby of a brothel. 

“Well, he’s not opposed to that but he said that he’d be satisfied with the rough sex and knotting. He doesn’t want to talk, he just a nameless, faceless transaction. Between you and me,” and here Chris leaned close as if imparting a great secret, “I think he’s a virgin.”

“A virgin? Is he aware of just how large an Alpha cock is? Not to mention the knot. No. I don’t think that this is the person for me,” John said, shaking his head.

“No worries on that account,” Chris assured him. “The device used to insert the synthetic Omega slick into our Betas is quite large. We prep our paying customers so that they can handle the insertion. Our employees already being used to the size, obviously.”

“Obviously,” John replied.

“Rest assured that he’ll be well open when you enter the, ah, room,” Chris said with a smile.

That smile seemed a bit sinister to John but he had nothing to base that feeling on and so he just nodded in the affirmative.

“It takes approximately a half hour to ready a new Beta customer to take an Alpha cock so if you’ll have a seat at the bar, the hostess will call you when everything’s ready. Drinks are on the house. All top shelf liquor,” Chris said. 

He guided John to the bar and told the bartender to take care of John while he waited for his room to be ready. With a wink at the bartender behind John’s back so he wouldn’t be seen.

“Sure thing, boss,” the bartender smiled back. “What’ll you have?”

“Scotch, neat, thanks,” John replied.

“John,” Chris said causing John to turn away from the bartender who then put something into and John’s glass followed quickly by the scotch.

“Have a great time!”

“I’m sure I will,” John said, watching as Chris walked away. Turning back, he took his drink from the bartender, thanking her, and turned back around to watch all of the activity happening around the stairs which no doubt led to the bedrooms.

Putting all of his seemingly baseless concerns aside, John began sipping the scotch slowly. It was actually quite good. He looked at the clock, five minutes had passed. Seemed like fifty.

He allowed himself to inhale deeply the scent of an Omega in heat. It was incredibly strong inside the establishment and he realized that he’d pushed that to the back of his brain while the transaction was being made. Now, as he enjoyed the pleasant burn of the scotch going down the back of his throat, he allowed himself to let the anticipation of finally having sex after so long, build. 

This was going to be a great night. He just knew it.


	5. Sherlock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The bad guys have Sherlock! OH NO!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Strange things are afoot at the Circle K.

***  
Chris entered the Beta Prep Room antechamber and saw that his brother was already waiting for him, nervously wringing his hands and rocking from foot to foot. Upon seeing his brother, Tommy stopped what he was doing and began rapidly asking questions in a panicked tone of voice.

“What are we going to do?!” Tommy asked anxiously.

“What do you mean?” Chris asked calmly.

“You know, with the,” and here Tommy rolled his eyes towards the Prep Room, “detective.” He finished lamely. Chris would know what to do. Chris always knew what to do.

“Why, he already has a customer downstairs who’s just had a nice scotch and roofie cocktail.” Chris laughed.

“What? But Holmes is an Alpha! Alphas don’t fuck each other! It’s taboo.” 

“Language, Tommy,” Chris said sternly.

“Sorry, I’m just nervous, is all. Are we…are we gonna…kill him?” Tommy whispered. He was so close to his brother at this point that Chris reached out a hand and moved him backwards a few steps.

“Of course not! What kind of person do you think I am?” Chris said, but there was no real heat behind it.

“No. No. ‘course not. I just wondered what the plan was,” Tommy said, trying to pull himself together and act as calmly as his brother, but failing miserably. 

“I already told you. He has a customer downstairs.”

“We don’t cater to Alphas fu…” Tommy began until he saw Chris narrow his eyes at him.

“We don’t cater to gays. How are we going to get that customer to fu…have sex with another Alpha? Assuming he’s not gay, that is.” 

“Tommy, Tommy, Tommy. Listen and learn.” Chris put a hand on Tommy’s shoulder and had him sit down on a nearby couch.

“I’m not in the business of murdering people. That’s a whole lot worse than getting picked up for prostituting Betas, for one thing.”

“But what about the Beta sex workers that are here against their will?!” Tommy was back to wringing his hands again.

“Well, first of all, they’re not at this club so even if the place was raided, it’s still just a brothel. There isn’t any kidnapping evidence here. Murder is the last refuge of the desperate and stupid and I am neither.”

“You’re not! You’re the smartest person I know, Chris!” Tommy began.

“Ok. Ok.” Chris put both hands out, palms forward, and motioned for Tommy to stop talking.

“Sorry,” Tommy said, looking downcast.

Chris loved Tommy but knew he’d never be smart enough to run the business. He’d probably remain a drug dealer, getting randomly picked up and released, for the rest of his life. He just wasn’t capable of doing anything else and he wasn’t even good at dealing. Fortunately, he didn’t sample his own wares so Chris allowed him to continue on with it, if not only to keep him busy and out of real trouble. 

Chris had long ago accepted that he’d be responsible for Tommy his entire life. Tommy wasn’t quite right in the head. Never had been. And since he’d taken his first step, Chris had always looked out for him. He didn’t mind. Tommy had something that you couldn’t buy, trustworthiness and blind loyalty, with a brush of hero worship on top. You might be able to buy that from people temporarily, but it wasn’t real. And there was no guarantee that someone else wouldn’t come along with more money and create a traitor in your midst. People could be bought. Family was forever. 

“It’s ok. Just listen,” Chris said.

“‘k.”

“So, the bloke downstairs, didn’t catch his name, let’s just call him ‘John’ so we both know who I’m talking about.” Chris began and Tommy nodded.

“He shows up here drunk, as most of our customers do, looking to shag a Beta. Not a prostitute but one of the Beta customers who come in looking to have sex with an Alpha. Either for anonymous sex or because they’ve never had sex with an Alpha. For whatever reason, they’re willing to pay to have sex with an Alpha and we’re more than happy to make the arrangements. So, now we have a Beta.”

“But…”

“Don’t interrupt,” Chris admonished. “It’s rude.”

“Sorry,” Tommy said contritely.

“You were going to say that we don’t have any Beta customers now but we do. What did I just say?” Chris asked, seeing Tommy about to interrupt again. Tommy subsided looking chagrined.

“Sherlock. He’s our new Beta. ‘But how can we trick one Alpha into unknowingly having sex with another Alpha?’ That was going to be your next question, right?”

Tommy nodded dutifully.

“The same way that we make Betas smell like Omegas; fill them with artificial slick. Betas don’t really smell like much of anything so it’s easy to pass them off as Omegas. We’ll just have to use more slick in this Alpha to disguise his natural scent. 

The problem with Alphas is their acute sense of smell. If they feel that their territory is being threatened, they’re capable of picking up and identifying the scent of the one Alpha out out a hundred who might be poaching on their territory. And when you add an Omega in heat to the equation, well, that’s never going to end well. That’s one of the reasons that we have so much security here. It might be fake Omega heat but an Alpha can’t tell the difference. The physical reaction is the same and we can’t have customers going berserk in here now, can we?”

Tommy smiled beatifically up at Chris, thinking how lucky he was to have such a brilliant brother who could figure all of this out. 

“I also had Cindy downstairs, serve ‘John’ a drink laced with roofies and a slight touch of Viagra. Our boy has been drinking quite a bit tonight so we want to make sure that he can get it up and keep it up in spite of that.” Chris looked at Tommy who was practically bursting with questions.

“Ok. You have questions and I have answers. Go.”

“I don’t get it. I mean, if we’re not gonna kill Holmes and we’re not gonna keep him either, what are we gonna do with him?”

Chris nodded. “Right. It’ll be just this customer for one night only, then we’ll throw Holmes into some alley and be done with him.”

“Won’t he go to the coppers?”

“What? And embarrass himself by admitting that he was not only captured by the very people he was supposed to be investigating, but raped as well? And by an Alpha no less? The gossip alone would destroy any working relationship that he had with the ?Yard.”

“Yeah. Fags don’t do well here in Lunnon,” Tommy agreed.

“‘London.’ And we don’t use derogatory words like that here. We also don’t care about anyone’s sexual preferences, but you’re right. Who is he going to want to tell that story to? No, he’ll just tuck his tail between his legs and go into hiding. Didn’t you say that he was a drug addict? We could dose him before we throw him out but what would be the fun in that? Besides, I guarantee he’ll be trying to score a fix before he gets close to home anyhow. If we’re lucky, maybe he’ll OD and off himself.”

“That’s brilliant! Bloody brilliant, Chris!”

“It’s business, is what it is,” Chris demurred but secretly, he was basking in the flattery.

“But, then…what about the ‘John’ bloke? What do we do about him after?”

“Once he’s undressed, you grab his wallet and find his address, then we’ll put him into a prepaid taxi and send him on his way. Door to door service. Nothing unusual there. We do it all the time. He’ll wake up in the morning, hung over, with a foggy memory of having had the best sex of his life. He won’t remember most of it but it’ll be enough to give him lots of wanking material for months, if not years, to come.”

“How do you think up these things? I never could!” Tommy exclaimed in admiration.

“That’s why I’m the boss. Let’s go in and have a little chat with Mister Holmes. I’m sure that the suspense is killing him.” 

Tommy jumped up and rushed to get the door for his brother. Tommy opened it and gestured Chris inside as if he were royalty. Which, to Tommy, at least, he was.

***

Sherlock looked up when the two men entered. One was a stranger but he instantly recognized Tommy. Well, that explained how he’d been found out. He exhaled in disgust. Dammit! He’d have to use a real disguise next time. 

He’d been dragged into some kind of exam room exactly 15 minutes ago by two burly men who had, embarrassingly, taken him by surprise. Between that, their size and strength, he’d immediately given up fighting. He’d need to conserve his energy so he’d be ready when another chance to get away occurred. And there was always another chance.

He’d found himself quickly and efficiently stripped and tied down onto a cold metal exam table. They were surprisingly lite on their feet and had moved him into place with practiced ease.

Throwing a sheet over his naked body, one had said, without a trace of irony, “Wait here,” and then without a backwards glance, they’d both departed. He’d been trying to get loose ever since but hadn’t even gained one iota of slack in the straps. He was well and truly stuck and was in an awful snit about it. He wasn’t taking any of this seriously. He never did. He’d escape. It was just a matter of time. 

Sherlock looked up at the new arrivals and calmly said,

“Hello, Tommy.”

Tommy paled. “How does he know my name?!” 

“Dealer. Drug addict. Think about it.” Chris said, tapping his temple with a forefinger.

“Oh yeah. Right. Right. Right. Right.” Tommy grinned, relief filling him. He didn’t think that there were such things as psychics but there were still mysteries out there! For all he knew, this could have been one of them. Phew!

“And you are?” Sherlock asked, eyes moving to the unknown variable in the room.

“Oh! Where are my manners? Name’s Chris.” He stuck his hand out for Sherlock to shake, seemingly forgetting that he was tied up.

“Well, that’s awkward.” Chris let his hand drop. “You’re probably wondering what we’re going to do with you,” Chris said.

“Not really. No.” Sherlock said flatly.

Chris was nonplussed. He hadn’t expected that reaction. This might be even more fun than he’d originally thought.

“And why is that, pray tell?”

“If you were going to kill me, you’d have already done so.” Pausing, Sherlock looked around the room at the medical exam setup, cabinets full of drugs, exam gloves; the standard accoutrements of a doctor’s office.

“I suppose you could be planning on torturing me but that doesn’t seem very likely. You already know who I am and why I’m here. After running several other scenarios through my head, I’ve come to the conclusion that whatever you have planned, it isn’t fatal, but I’m unlikely to enjoy it. How close am I?” Sherlock finished smugly.

“Well, bravo! You’re right. Completely right. Amazing.” Chris marveled while Tommy just stood there, mouth agape, staring at Sherlock as if he’d just seen a ghost. He was back to thinking that this man really WAS psychic and just the idea of that terrified him.

“Of course I’m right. I’m always right.” Sherlock huffed.

“Would you like to know the details?” Chris asked.

“What part of ‘no’ does your minuscule brain NOT comprehend? I despise repeating myself.”

“You’re awfully pompous for a man, lying naked and strapped to an exam table,” Chris said, amused.

“It wouldn’t be the first time,” Sherlock said.

“Really? Interesting.” Chris looked at his watch. “Too bad that we don’t have more time. I’ll bet that you have some fascinating stories.”

“Don’t worry. You can ask my brother about it when you see him.”

“Your brother? You seem like one of those over-confident types who heads into danger without any backup. Am I right?” Chris smiled.

“You can ask my brother about that too. I’m sure that he’ll have plenty to say on the matter,” Sherlock said, staring at the ceiling, impatiently awaiting his fate. The sooner it started the sooner it would be over and then he could work on finding a way to escape.

“Whatever you say, Mister Holmes. Oh, in case you’re wondering…”

“I wasn’t.”

“We’ll be letting you go tonight,” Chris continued on as if Sherlock hadn’t spoken. “As soon as our customer has finished with you, that is.” Chris smirked. Walking over to the intercom next to the door, he pressed the button and said,

“Becca, could you come in and get our Beta ready for use tonight, please?”

A woman, whom Sherlock presumed to be ‘Becca,’ opened the door and stepped in. She was dressed in scrubs, had her hair tied back and looked like a legitimate medical person. Without a word, she went to the sink and began washing her hands thoroughly followed by donning exam gloves.

“I want him cleaned inside and out. Give some extra attention to his genitals and try to erase as much of that Alpha scent as possible. I know that you can’t really smell him and you’d never be able to remove it completely, so just go with your gut. The slick will cover any remaining scent.”

“How much Omega slick should I insert into his rectum, sir?”

“Whatever you normally give a Beta, double it. I don’t want to risk the scent wearing off before our customer has finished his visit with our new Beta.” Chris said, smiling.

“Yes, sir.” Becca began pulling out seemingly random medical tools and placing them on a tray. Walking to Sherlock’s side, she gently pulled the sheet off of him and set it on a nearby chair. Goosebumps rose on his skin as the chill air hit his naked body.

Becca pulled the tray next to the exam table and began opening packets of what looked to be antiseptic soap; the type used before surgical procedures. Setting the now open packets back down on the tray, Sherlock watched as she raised her hand up and pulled down a shower nozzle, which he hadn’t noticed before, and began spraying him down with warm water from head to toe. She added the soap to Sherlock’s scalp and began methodically washing his hair. It felt quite nice, actually. 

“Oh, before I go,” Chris began, giving Sherlock a start. He’d forgotten all about the man standing there, watching.

“The customer who will be servicing you tonight? He’s completely unaware that you’re not a willing participant. He’s drunk which we’ve enhanced with a chemical boost to make sure that he could…shall we say, meet your needs? He thinks he’s going to have sex with a fellow customer. A Beta looking for sex with an Alpha. By the time he wakes up tomorrow, you’ll be nothing more than a pleasant memory of an amazing night of sex.” 

Chris put a hand on the doorknob to leave, then paused. 

“Oh, by the way, feel free to struggle as much as you’d like. He’s been told that you’ve requested rough sex so he’ll be expecting it. You might as well relax though because, once you’ve been strapped into the breeding stand, you won’t be going anywhere for quite some time. And don’t worry about him seeing your face or calling out to him for help. It won’t do you any good as you’ll be wearing a mask and gag.”

“You’ll have to untie me to move me to the breeding stand. I won’t go without a fight.” Sherlock said, seemingly accepting his fate when in actuality, his heart was racing a mile a minute and he felt something that he couldn’t quite recognize. Was it...fear? Ridiculous.

Becca had finished washing and rinsing his hair and seemed to be waiting for the pimp to leave before she continued with her work.

“That’s why we’re doing this now,” Chris said, nodding at Becca who had been holding a syringe down by her side. She brought it up swiftly, injecting the entire contents directly into Sherlock’s neck. He immediately began to feel a kind of lassitude sweeping over him, his muscles relaxed, all the tension leaving his body. 

“That’s just a little twilight sleep for you. They use it for outpatient surgeries. It’s fast acting but doesn’t last long. Don’t worry, I had the dose adjusted for you. Enough to stun an elephant, it will only calm a person with a, shall we say, high tolerance for drugs. Wouldn’t want you to sleep through the main event.” Chris laughed.

“My brother…” Sherlock trailed off. He didn’t have enough energy to say more.

“Yes. Your brother. I’m so scared! See you later, Sherlock. Show our Alpha a good time, won’t you?”

Chris opened the door and ushered Tommy to precede him out. The door closed and the room fell silent.

Becca had begun washing his body after the injection and had just finished rinsing him off. He could hear the water draining through holes in the table. Mortician’s table? Sherlock thought, his head fuzzy.

She removed her gloves and threw them into a nearby hazardous waste bin, washed her hands again, then slipping on a new pair of gloves, walked to the foot of the exam table. Reaching beneath the table, Becca pulled a set of stirrups up and out, locking them into place. She then removed the straps that bound Sherlock’s ankles to the table, placed each leg into a stirrup and strapped him back down. He couldn’t muster the energy to offer even a token resistance. 

She went back to the tray, and pulled it to the end of the table. She then walked over to an exam chair on wheels and rolled it over until it rested between Sherlock’s legs. Becca then sat down in front of him and began setting up…whatever it was.

Picking up a tube of medical grade lubricant, she began squeezing a liberal amount onto her gloved fingertips. Setting the tube back on the tray, she said;

“Don’t worry. This won’t hurt. I promise. I do this all the time. The customers and employees say that I’m the best. That they barely feel it. Everyone always asks for me when I’m on duty.” She said, smiling as she casually inserted first one and then two fingers into his rectum. 

When she was able to fit four fingers inside of him comfortably - for her, at least - she removed them, reached over to the tray and picked up a large cylindrical object with an oval top on one end and a hose on the other. The hose terminated into some sort of machine covered in dials. Sherlock’s brain was trying to tell him what it was but he couldn’t understand a bit of it.

Becca picked up the lubricant again and started distributing it generously along the cylinder until the entire thing had been coated.

Holding the cylinder in one hand, she spread Sherlock’s buttocks with the other, exposing his anus. Placing the oval head against his entrance, Becca inserted the cylinder with ease. She leaned over and flipped a switch, the sound of rushing water filling the room. 

In a cheerful voice, Becca asked;

“Have you ever had a high colonic, Mister Holmes?”


	6. The Prep Room

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock is readied for his Alpha client.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little bit of polish on this chapter although there are still things that I'm unhappy with but I'm going to stop tweaking it. For now, at least.
> 
> No major changes so there's no need to reread it unless you want to.

***

Forty minutes to go time…

Chris entered the Prep Room in time to see Becca turn Sherlock over onto his left side, sliding his right knee up towards his chest. She’d released Sherlock’s ankles in order to perform this maneuver and Chris was frankly amazed at how docile Sherlock was. The sedative should have been wearing off by now. Enough so they could walk him to the stand instead of carrying him, that is.

“That’s a big risk you’re taking. Releasing him from his ankle straps. What if he’d kicked out? Knocked you down and figured out some way to escape. What then?” Chris asked, anger clear in his tone.

“He began to struggle as I was finishing the colonic. I couldn’t have him disconnecting everything so I gave him another half dose of the sedative that I’d prepared in case the first injection began to wear off. I know what I’m about, sir. I’ve been doing this job for over a decade now.” Although Becca hadn’t said this angrily, she knew that she was taking a chance speaking to Chris like this but he’d insulted her and that needed to be corrected immediately.

Chris stood there for a few seconds, silently assessing Becca. Waiting to see if she’d break and babble apologies for offending him. Surprisingly, she held her ground which was just what he’d expected. He didn’t want anyone here who wasn’t confident enough in their abilities to correct him when they felt that he was wrong. That’s what he paid them for. Their knowledge. Anyone could have a ‘yes’ man but that’s how people got killed. Letting the boss always think he’s right until he made a fatal mistake that could have easily been avoided if they’d just done their damned jobs and provided the expert opinions for which they were paid. 

“I do apologize, Becca,” Chris said sincerely. “I should know better than to question you. Please continue. Where are you in the process? We have about 40 minutes to go before our Alpha begins getting impatient. I also don’t want to have to dose him again or else he’ll be useless and I don’t have time to chat up another Alpha and go through all of this setup again. Apparently, Sherlock has this mysterious brother who might be looking for him, so I want Holmes out of here tonight before he’s missed.”

“No worries, sir. I’m getting ready to give him the Omega slick infusion right now. I was just getting him into position and couldn’t have him struggling to get away.”

“Of course. Again, I apologize for questioning you.”

“I understand completely, sir,” Becca said, turning back to arranging Sherlock on his left side.

“Can he understand what we’re saying or is he too drugged up now?” Chris asked, giving Sherlock a questioning glance.

“He understands everything we’re saying. It just takes a little longer to make sense of it than it would under normal circumstances.” Becca had finished arranging Sherlock exactly as she wanted him, then reached for the first of two large volume glass syringes that were laid out on her tray.

“So, how much is in one of those syringes?” Chris asked, watching as Becca attached a large nozzle on each syringe. 

“Well, we get them packaged as 500ml syringes, each containing a prepared dosage of 355ml of synthetic, grade A Omega slick.”

“And our Betas only get one of those syringes injected?”

“Yes. Once per client. The injection is enough to handle one Alpha comfortably. If the Beta is going to have more than one customer, they come to me for a cleansing enema and slick refill between clients.” Becca began coating the nozzles with lubricant. “I rarely recommend a colonic unless there’s a good reason for it. Take Mister Holmes, for example. I didn’t have any data on him so in that case, it was safer to go with the colonic rather than an enema. That way, no surprises.” She set them both down on the tray, giving Chris her undivided attention.

“I’ve never really thought about it before. I pay other people to worry about that kind of thing for me but, now, looking at the syringes prepped on your tray, do you really think that two will be enough?”

Becca looked at him and he could tell that she was working out the dosages in her head.

“Well, two should be fine but a third wouldn’t hurt anything. I can prep another one if you’d prefer.” Becca sat, awaiting Chris’ decision.

“Ok. Let’s do that then. Rather have too much than not enough.” 

“Yes, sir. Because of the large volume of slick, I’m switching to the colonic irrigation system. It will allow the slick to be injected higher up into the intestines and will provide a longer lasting experience for Sherlock’s Alpha. It will be more like an Omega’s natural slick providing a continuous flow as intercourse continues.” Becca said, unscrewing the nozzles and placing them back on the tray.

“Why don’t we just do that all the time then?” Chris asked out of curiosity.

“I’ve run the numbers and our income per customer doesn’t justify the expense. And the regular Beta/Alpha intercourse transaction normally culminates in one, possibly two, orgasms. Using more than one syringe at a time would be a waste.” Becca went to the drug cabinet and withdrew a third syringe.

“You’re woefully underpaid! You know that?” Chris said, impressed despite himself. He knew that he only hired the best but the fact that this doc also understood the necessity of staying within budget, was invaluable. 

“Yes, sir,” Becca smiled and began emptying one syringe at a time into the hydro-colonic machine.

“Starting today, I’ll be doubling your salary. Keep up the good work!” Chris said, knowing that Becca was well worth it.

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” Becca emptied the last syringe into the machine, then closed the seal on that container. Picking up a new colonic cylinder and hose, she opened the sterile wrapping and began attaching it to the machine.

All the while, Sherlock lay there, too drugged to move and unable to concentrate, listening as two people casually discussed instilling a liter of fluid into his intestines. He had to get out of there!

“Give me a minute to talk to Sherlock, would you?” Chris asked genially.

“Yes, sir. Shall I leave the room?”

“No. Not at all. It’s nothing private.” Chris said.

“Very well, sir.”

“Sherlock. Sherlock? Hey! Listen because this is important.”

Sherlock’s eyes rolled lethargically in Chris’ direction.

“I thought I might need insurance, you know, in case you decided to be a cock about everything and pitch a fit so here’s what we’re going to do. You give any sign that you’re uncooperative, then we’ll inject you with a nice speed ball. Oh, not enough to kill you, just enough to give you a taste. And I realize that, contrary to public opinion, one hit of heroin won’t turn you into an addict but it’ll remind you how much you miss it. How much better you felt when using it. So…I recommend that you don’t take that chance. Just cooperate and you’ll be out of here by dawn. How’s that?” Chris asked, sounding as if he was offering a reasonable solution.

Sherlock just blinked at him.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he said, giving Sherlock’s head a pat.

“Alright. Becca. He’s all yours!”

“Yes, sir,” Becca said watching as Chris left the room.

“Ok. Here we go.” He heard Becca say as she inserted another huge cylinder into his rectum again.

“You’re going to feel some pressure. More than last time because you’re going to have to retain this one.” She said cheerfully as she seated the cylinder deeply inside of him.

“Ready?” She asked, and without a pause, flipped the switch starting the instillation of the slick. Just as his stomach began to cramp, Becca moved him onto his back and began to massage his stomach, spreading the intrusive slick around inside his intestines.

“I know that you’re uncomfortable right now, but once it’s been evenly distributed within you, you won’t even know it’s there. Promise!” A buzzer sounded and Becca leaned over and switched off the machine.

“See? That wasn’t so bad, now, was it.” She gently removed the cylinder and placed it in a sterile bag and lay it on her tray.

“I feel like I’ve been wearing these gloves forever. Let me wash my hands and put on a clean pair then we can finish up and let you get you to work. Won’t that be nice?” She asked, heading over to the sink and diligently repeating her hand washing and glove donning ritual.

“Ok. Let’s turn you on your left side again, with your knee raised so that I can insert a dildo inside of you. It will keep all of that slick inside until your Alpha is ready to use you. Then we just pop it out and let your Alpha go to town.”

Giving him a concerned look, she said, “Hey. Don’t worry. It’ll be ok. I’ve stretched you a much as I could while still keeping you tight enough to satisfy your Alpha. Just lay there and let him do his thing and you’ll be done and back home in no time. Feel better?” Becca asked, with a condescending pat to his hip.

‘Of all the people I’m going to get even with for this, you’re going to be first, Becca.’ Sherlock thought, he couldn’t muster the energy to speak.

“…what we’re going to do is take you to your breeding stand and set you up so that you’re presented attractively to your Alpha. Just like a good, little Omega.” Becca said, patting his curls.

“You’re hair is just lovely,” she said, running her fingers through his now dry curls.

‘You’re going to die slowly, I promise you that.’ Sherlock thought.

“Oh, nice! You’re smiling! That’s all you needed to do. Accept your fate and it’ll all be over before you know it!”

‘I’m going to pull all the hair out of your head, one strand at a time…’

“Guys! I need you to take Sherlock to his breeding stand and set him up nice and pretty for his Alpha!” Becca was positively giddy now that her work was done. She truly enjoyed disguising one sex as another; she was very proud of her skills and so at the end of each session, she allowed her unbridled happiness and pride to show through.

The men began lifting Sherlock, surprisingly gently, off of the table, when Becca spoke;

“Oh, no! Just a sec, boys!” The men stood back obediently and waited. Picking up a flannel, Becca dampened it with warm water and brought it back to Sherlock. Spreading his cheeks, she slowly cleaned off the residual…everything, that had been left on him. She threw that flannel into the bin containing the other soiled wash and, returning with a dry one, she spread his cheeks again, tenderly drying him off. Sherlock was mortified.

‘Dying is too good for you. I’ll talk to Mycroft. He’ll have some nefarious ideas, I’m sure. It’s one of the few things that he excels in; plotting evil deeds,’ Sherlock thought.

“Ok, love! You’ve been SO good! Best patient ever! Muwah! Have a good time!” She said, giving his backside a pat as the men dragged him from the room.

‘Alright. I’ll let Mycroft play with you and THEN I’ll kill you. Either way, you’re a dead woman…eventually.’

“Look, mate. This bloke’s doing that creepy smiling thing again.” 

The other man looked at Sherlock’s face and the disturbing smile placed there, and shuddered.

“Ah, he’s just doped to the gills.”

“I can’t wait until this one is over!” 

“Me either, mate. Me either.”

‘Me either,’ thought Sherlock.

***

They’d quickly bound Sherlock to the breeding stand, placing his head and hands in a good old fashioned stockade. They’d continued by laying his long body out on the padded bench followed by strapping him to it at his chest and hips. His head was now lower than his backside and blood began rushing to his forehead. He felt the beginnings of a headache. The finale was spreading his legs and locking his ankles into a steel spreader bar bolted to the floor. He wasn’t escaping from this one either.

He heard a door open followed by some boisterous chatter and laughter. He tried to make out what was being said, but the hood that they’d placed over his head muffled everything, so he just had to wait until they’d entered this room and see if he could hear anything.

The inner door opened and swept cold air over his naked buttocks. He sensed four people. Three Betas and one Alpha. HIS Alpha. He inhaled the Alpha’s scent deeply, marking him down in his memory palace so that, should he run into this stranger at a later date, he’d know right away who he was and then they’d have a little discussion. One involving fists if he found out that Chris had been lying and this man had known that he was going to commit rape all along.

The sedative was still helping Sherlock remain calm but he could feel the edge of panic begin creeping over him the longer he lay there. He knew that it was only a matter of time before he lost it and that was one thing that he couldn’t allow to happen. He wrapped his integrity around him like a cloak and just lay there, waiting…again.


	7. When Worlds Collide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John finally meet...sort of...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did some editing that hopefully made things more cohesive. No big changes so you don't need to read it again unless you want to.
> 
>  
> 
> Note: I have this pet peeve about dialog being lifted from the show and repeated, verbatim, in a fic. I've done it myself but I hated doing it so, just know that when you read this, you're going to see some familiar dialog but don't look for it to follow a set pattern. I'm just using the scenarios for key points that drive my plot forward.

***

John sat at the bar finishing his second scotch. He’d already decided half way through the second drink that it would be his last. He was feeling good. Really good, but the world suddenly spun a bit and it took him three tries to place his empty glass back on the bar. And even then, it slid across the slick surface, the bartender casually reaching out and stopping it before it crashed to the floor.

“Sorry. Must happen a lot, eh?”

The bartender just smiled, dunked the glass into a sink full of hot, soapy water behind the bar, and then moved on to another customer. It didn’t escape John’s notice that she hadn’t asked if he’d wanted another.

He hadn’t been this drunk in a long, long time and he swore to himself that he’d never get this drunk again. He knew that he was going to regret it in the morning. But for now? He was already drunk, might as well continue to enjoy it. 

Although Harry would never have believed it, John really could see the appeal of staying drunk all the time. Except that it was just slow suicide and while he had patience for a lot of things, death by alcohol wasn’t one of them. When he was ready, he was going out immediately. None of this pathetic drunk business, languishing for years, while friends finally gave up on him and went away one at a time until no one was left to care whether he lived or died. And he definitely wasn’t going to wind up in hospital, hooked up to a dialysis machine, waiting for someone to die so that he could get a brand new liver and start destroying it all over again. He shuddered. That was enough of that line of thinking!

Everything seemed to have a dreamlike quality and he felt as if he was lighter than air. He held onto the edge of the bar to keep himself from floating away. Realizing how silly that was, he open his fingers and let go only to immediately grab the edge again when he almost fell off of the barstool. He really couldn’t remember ever having been this drunk. He thought that he might have had the same thought a few minutes ago but then shrugged and let that thought fly out into the ether along with his other pointless thoughts.

He looked up at the clock but couldn’t make out the time. The numbers were fuzzy and he couldn’t seem to focus. 

“‘scuse me,” he said to the bartender. “But do ya know what time it is? That clock on the wall seems to be ‘fective. Can’t read it.”

“It’s almost half midnight. One of our hostesses should be coming to take you to your appointment shortly.” Then she went back to wiping the bar down.

“’S’good ‘cause my cock’s been rock hard for the passss thirty minutes and I need ta do somethin’ ‘bout that soon,” John said. His internal censor must have already passed out, he thought.

A young asian woman with sparkling black eyes walked up to him and spoke. 

“Hello, John. It IS John, isn’t it?”

“Swud it sez on ma name tag,” John said, pointing to a nonexistent name tag on the nonexistent lapel of the jacket he hadn’t taken off since he’d entered the brothel almost an hour ago. 

“I see,” the woman said with a smile. “Your room and Omega are ready and waiting for you. Follow me, please.”

John tried standing up but slid off the stool and onto the floor.

“Whoops! Good thing my huge Alpha cock’s so hard. Broke ma fall!” John said, laughing at his own joke.

The woman looked down at him, disgust carefully hidden behind her professional smile. 

John attempted to pull himself up but only succeeded in pulling the barstool down upon himself.

“Well, tha’s gonna leave a mark,” John slurred.

“Just stay there and we’ll take care of getting you to your room,” the woman said, then nodded to the two men who stood at the foot of the stairs waiting to be called on to perform just such a service.

They walked over, and each taking an arm, pulled John to an standing, albeit, shaky, position between them, and began propelling him towards the stairs.

“This is good ol’ British hos’pitalty is what this is,” John said, grinning. The two men looked at each other over John’s head, rolled their eyes and continued moving John up the staircase until they finally stopped in front of a room labeled, ‘3D,’ which, for some reason, set John off into gales of laughter. Wiping tears from his eyes he said to no one in particular,

“Objects are closer than they a’peer!” And promptly burst into giggles. “Wait. Tha’s not right…objects are…objects are…fuck if I know!”

“This is your room, John,” the woman said patiently.

“Really? Thought it wuz jus’a picture!” Which only set him off laughing again. “A big fuckin’ pitcher…pict…picture. Looks so real!” John said, patting the door in amazement.

Reaching out, the woman took hold of the doorknob and gave the door a soft push. It opened soundlessly. She nodded at the two men holding John up and they dragged him inside.

John glanced around trying to figure out what he was looking at. If only it would all stop spinning for a minute.

“This is your sitting room,” the woman began, gesturing to the furniture set about in a surprisingly cozy room.

“Well, thas nice’n all, but wherez the fuckin’ room?” 

“Right this way,” the woman said with a sigh. She hated the drugged customers most of all. Drunks were bad enough but they were fairly easy to manage. Add drugs to the alcohol and it was like trying to hold onto a greased pig.

She opened the door and nodded to the men to drag him into the next room.

As soon as she’d opened the door, the overpowering scent of an Omega in full heat wafted out and went straight to John’s caveman brain causing him to groan and grab his cock.

“Where? Where is he? It’s so dark in here. Can’t see him. Want to see him. NOW!” John demanded.

“Let’s get your clothes off first, John. Ok?” The woman nodded to the men to remove John’s clothes which was done with speedy efficiency. There was a thud and everyone looked down surprised to see a Baretta laying on the floor.

“Sar e, sar e. Tha’s mine. Jess a keepsake from the war. I’ve killed people, you know! Shhh….John said, placing a finger over his lips. “Worse kep se-cret ever!”

“I’ll just, put this over here with your clothes, is that ok, John?” The woman asked, picking up the gun with two delicate fingers.

“Tha’s fine. Jus fine. Doan looz it, though. Might need to blow ma brainz out later. Keep tha unner yer hats too.”

“Of course, John,” the woman said, laying John’s gun atop his clothes.

John stood naked and proudly erect and began trying to get away from his ‘assistants’ so that he could find HIS Omega. His! He suddenly felt hands on his cock.

“Wha? What are you doin’? Stop tha’! I can do it!” John took over trying to pull the condom over his cock without success. “This thing’s too small!”

“You need to remove the condom from the packet first, John,” the woman said.

He flicked the condom packet at one of the men and said with disgust,

“Fine. You do it then, but hurry up! I don’t want anyone else getting my Omega!” John closed his eyes, tilted his head back, and spread his arms wide as if he were a king demanding that he be dressed.

This time, three pair of eyes rolled. One man held John up under the arms while the other opened the packet, took the condom out and smoothed it onto John’s cock.

“Why’s so fuckin’ dark in here?” John demanded.

“It’s not dark, John. You’re eyes are closed,” the woman replied.

“Oh. Right. I knew that. Jess wanted ta see if you were payin’ ‘tention.” John finished, belligerently. 

Opening his eyes, John tried to focus them while looking around the large room for “his” Omega.

“Still dark…” John complained.

“I’m sorry, John. We only use soft lighting in our guest rooms.” The woman said this as if she’d said it many times before; she had. 

“How’my s’pose ta fine anythin’ in this dungeon?”

“Over here, John. Your Alpha…I mean, Omega, is waiting for you.”

“‘Alpha?!’”

“I’m sorry, John. I misspoke. Your Omega is over here, all ready and waiting for your hard Alpha cock,” the woman said, leading him to the breeding stand to which Sherlock was securely bound.

John stopped and stared. The man had been strapped into something that looked like a fleece lined stockade in front connected to a padded bench to which his torso had been strapped down in two places. The chest and hips. Fleece or no, it didn’t look comfortable to John. 

The man’s head was considerably lower than his hips which were positioned at such an angle that John need only walk over and stick his cock into him. He could just start thrusting without any awkward adjustments trying to find the right position. 

The man’s legs were kept wide apart by the use of a spreader bar which was bolted onto the floor. The man’s ankles placed in lined cuffs on either end. 

John couldn’t see what his face looked like as the man was facing away from him and wore a hood. What he could see though was an amazing body. A swimmer’s body. All long lines and taught muscle. His skin was the color of alabaster and looked smooth to the touch. John wondered if this man swam only in moonlight. It would explain the paleness of his skin.

John, his balance seemingly restored, reached out and ran a hand over one firm buttock then gave it a light squeeze followed by a smack that seemed unusually loud in the quiet room.

Both the men and woman had stepped back and were watching as John investigated his Omega. 

John walked beside the man’s flank, dragging a hand softly along it and thought how grateful he was to Mike for this gift. A gift made all the sweeter because this man was a customer too. He wasn’t acting the part of a prostitute, he was here because he wanted to be fucked by an Alpha. John. He wanted to be fucked by John and John wanted him desperately.

He reached the man’s head looking at the hood which he now saw had a zipper up the back for easy removal. He grasped the tab in one hand and began to slowly ease the zip open. He hadn’t gotten very far when he was interrupted by an abrupt;

“NO! You mustn’t remove his hood. That’s part of the contract he negotiated with the Club. The customer, Alpha, are not allowed to see his face. Also, per his request, he is gagged as well. Neither one of those things may be removed or the contract is broken and you’ll be asked to leave and permanently banned from our establishment. I believe that Chris has already gone over all this with you.” It wasn’t a question.

“Right. Sorry. It’s just, he’s so beautiful, I just wanted to see his face. Just a glimpse?” 

The woman could sense the question at the end of that last sentence and said, “I’m sorry. If you can’t abide by the rules, you’ll be escorted from the property now.”

“No. I understand. Just let me finish admiring him a bit.” The man smelled AMAZING and all John wanted to do was sink balls deep into that tight Omega arsehole.

He forced himself to continue his perusal of the man, finishing by grasping the man’s cock which was surprisingly large and just as surprisingly, flaccid. 

“If this is his fantasy, he doesn’t seem very interested in the proceedings. He’s awfully still, too, isn’t he?” John asked, his brain was concerned but his cock was wishing he’d just get the hell on with it. 

“Oh! That!” The woman said, sounding relieved. “He’s a bit sedated at the moment…” she began.

“Sedated? I’m not fucking someone who’s sedated!” John yelled. He felt his alcohol burning off but he still felt loopy in spite of that.

“He requested a tranquilizer due to nerves,” the woman said confidentially. “He finally broke down and admitted that this was his first time and he was very nervous. Naturally, we assured him that he’d been thoroughly prepped and wouldn’t feel any pain but he insisted on a tranquilizer and, well, he’s the boss, so…” the woman held her hands out in a “what could we do?” gesture.

John walked back up to the man’s head and asked,

“Are you sure that you’re ok with this? Just nod your head if you want to continue.” They all waited for Sherlock to nod his head. It was suspenseful for John but doubly so for the three people in the room who knew that Sherlock had in no way volunteered for any of this. 

When Sherlock remained silent, the woman glanced at one of the men and then back at Sherlock’s thighs. He nodded and moved closer until his suit jacket just barely brushed Sherlock’s skin.

Stepping next to John, who hadn’t once looked away from the man’s shrouded head, the woman bent down to Sherlock’s ear and said softly,

“Sir. Have you changed your mind? It’s not a problem if you have. We can always use the alternative plan that was discussed earlier, if you’re sure that’s what you really want to do…” She shifted her gaze to the man and watched as he withdrew a small syringe from his pocket and jabbed it into Sherlock’s inner thigh, thumb poised to inject the contents should they get any response that wasn’t in the affirmative.

Still nothing. The man removed the syringe and then stabbed higher up on his inner thigh followed by sliding the hypodermic partially in and out at different, painful angles. The man kept this up until Sherlock finally seemed to wake up and he nodded his head.

The man took the syringe out and stepped back with his partner, looking as if he’d never moved.

“There, you see? Just nerves,” the woman said, sounding relieved.

John put his hand on Sherlock’s neck and asked gently, “You’re really sure then?” At Sherlock’s second nod, John stepped back and, accepting that the man was indeed willing, deeply inhaled the Omega scent, and allowed his hind brain to take over.

“You three. Leave. Now.” John ordered in his Captain Watson voice.

“I just need to do one more thing and then we’ll leave the two of you to get acquainted,” the woman said. She held out a hand and one of the men gave her a flannel and a plastic bag. The other handed her exam gloves which she put on in a surprisingly dainty manner. 

Grasping the end of the dildo that was protruding from Sherlock’s anus, she held the flannel in her other hand and gradually eased the dildo out, folded the flannel around it, then placed it in the bag and sealed it. 

Omega slick trickled slowly out of Sherlock’s anus and down the crease of his inner thigh.

“Get. OUT!” John demanded, eyes still on Sherlock’s slick.

“Yes. Of course. You’ve only to pick up the phone on the end table if you need…” the woman began.

“I have everything I need right here,” John said, grabbing his hard cock. He couldn’t believe how long it’d be hard. Time to use it.

***

The three Betas quickly departed, grateful to finally get away from those two. 

“They’re both crazy,” one man said.

“Yeah, they deserve each other,” said the other man.

“I need a drink,” said the woman.

As far as they were concerned, they’d done their time in the barrel this night and they were off the clock.

They all headed downstairs to the bar and proceeded to get completely pissed. 

***


	8. We Meet At Last

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beware: Shenanigans Ahead

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***  
> My editing became obsessive and so I broke up one chapter into three because they were different segments and it didn't make sense to keep them all in one place anymore.  
> Just a note to tell you that I don't believe that there's such a thing as a magic penis, however, given Sherlock's ability to block and/or delete things at will, not to mention his patented casual disregard for his transport, I feel like this is a realistic FICTIONAL scenario in that particular universe.
> 
> ***
> 
> Not beta'd. Please ignore mistakes or do what I do; mentally correct things as I read. Actually, that's an annoying habit and it's impossible stop once you've started it. 
> 
> I'll edit obsessively later.
> 
> TTFN
> 
> Debbie

***

Without saying another word, John stepped up between Sherlock’s thighs and entered him in one, smooth thrust. Sherlock flinched.

“Oh, god. This is good. You feel so good,” John said and began to brutally ram in and out of Sherlock’s hole. He placed a hand on one of Sherlock’s cheeks and pinched it hard enough that Sherlock moaned in pain.

“Like that, do you?” John asked, switching to the other cheek and pinching that one just as hard. Sherlock’s lethargy left him all at once and he began struggling in earnest.

“That’s it. Show me how you much you love it. Love taking my big, Alpha cock!” John continued to fuck Sherlock brutally, thinking that every moan, every move, every struggle was his Omega telling him how much he was enjoying this. Enjoying John fulfilling his fantasies.

After a quarter of an hour, John realized that he still hadn’t come yet and was actually becoming a bit frustrated. 

Sherlock just wanted it to end. Wanted to be gone from here and never think of it again. It wasn’t that it was painful; Becca had been telling him the truth when she’d said that it wouldn’t hurt, it was just…he’d been a virgin and although he didn’t consider it some great gift to give someone, he also never expect to lose his virginity in the first place, much less in such a violent manner. 

He didn’t care about sex, never thought about it one way or another. He still didn’t understand why virginity was such a valuable commodity. Losing it was messy, degrading, and demoralizing and he never wanted to do anything like this again. And then, John reached for Sherlock’s cock and his world tilted on its axis.

He quickly isolated himself from all this discomfort, locking it as far away in his mind palace as he could. He began focusing solely on his cock that was rapidly hardening in response to John’s ministrations. How could that be? He didn’t want this. Why was this happening?

Then he felt a flush creep up his neck and he was embarrassed. With all of the other indignities turned off, this one thing…felt good. Amazing, actually. He’d been through so much today. Would it be so wrong to enjoy this one part? Allow himself to feel the pleasure of his cock being stroked by this stranger? Then the stroking stopped and, to his surprise, he felt bereft. He wanted more. 

His still felt himself being taken roughly but he wasn’t allowing it to affect this new thing. The thing that wasn’t happening any more and without that distraction, he became vaguely aware of man’s cock growing even larger. 

It was his knot. This man was going to knot him, another Alpha. What did that mean? Anything? He had no idea. Certainly he was aware of homosexuality and he didn’t care one whit about it, or sex in general, but that was before…this…he felt John pull out and step away. 

Had the man come? He couldn’t tell and so he just waited to see what was next and then he felt something new. A moist heat surrounded his cock and he realized that the man had begun sucking him off. Of course Sherlock knew about blow jobs but he’d never given or received one and had nothing to compare it to. Had the Alpha been told that this was one of Sherlock’s alleged requests? He didn’t remember hearing anything like that but he hadn’t been in the best shape since he’d entered B-Club. There were blank spaces where memories of today’s events should be.

Grasping Sherlock’s cock in one hand, the man began sucking and licking while simultaneously stroking him in a counter rhythm. This was a revelation. This was amazing. He’d had no idea how wonderful this could be. So long as he didn’t think about the rest, he could enjoy this. He would enjoy it and he allowed a deep moan to escape. He wanted to indicate to the man that he was enjoying this. And to continue. Yes, please. Don’t stop. 

However, the man did stop, and without releasing Sherlock’s cock, took a deep breath and said, “Your cock is massive! How could you still be a virgin? You’re amazing, and beautiful and I think I might just be a little bit in love with you right now.”

That seemed silly to Sherlock so he thrust his hips back and forth, hoping that the man would get the hint and start sucking again. He did and it was still amazing. 

He began to believe that this man was a victim as well. That he was completely unaware that he’d been made party to a despicable act. And so Sherlock neatly pared this man and the violence perpetrated against him, from Chris and his club and so held no malice against him. Oh, he was still going to kill these people but not this man. This man was an innocent and Sherlock didn’t have it in him to hold a grudge against someone who was being used as a weapon to punish Sherlock.

Sherlock inhaled this man’s scent deeply. He’d file it away and remember it always. The good parts. He’d delete the rest. And maybe they’d meet someday and, what? Live happily ever after? Focus, Sherlock! 

Sherlock thought that between the drugs that were obviously still in his system, and the amazing blow job that he was being given, his mind had turned to romantic mush. And during his rape, no less. Then John sucked him deeply into his mouth, caressing his cock-head with his tongue and that was even more spectacular than everything that had been done before. 

Sherlock felt his knot forming and wondered if this man would realize that he held an Alpha’s cock in his mouth and what that might mean to him. Would he be angry? Was he too drunk and drugged to notice? Sherlock hoped so. He needed just this one part to stay pure. To be pleasurable and forget the rest. Just this once, please let something work out.

The man could no longer fit Sherlock’s entire cock in his mouth and had resorted to squeezing his knot while lavishing attention on the head. If he noticed Sherlock’s knot, he didn’t mention it and so Sherlock was able to submerse himself in the feelings. And this man was right; it was amazing.

Sherlock realized with a start that the man had stopped sucking him or jerking him off and his cock grew cold as the man’s saliva began to dry. 

‘No!! Don’t stop! Please!’ Sherlock yelled inside of his head. 

“I’m sorry. I have to fuck you. I hope you understand. I love being under you, sucking you, but right now I need to fuck you. Let me do this one thing and I swear I will finish you off. Ok?” John asked, paying keen attention to his partner’s head, waiting for him to either nod in the affirmative or shake his head ‘no.’ Whatever his Omega wanted, he would do.

Sherlock gave a tentative nod and John asked, “Is that a yes?” Sherlock nodded more firmly this time.

“I’m going to make you feel so good. I’ll now be educating you on the proper use of your prostate,” John said, gently inserting a finger into the silky slick inside of Sherlock, seeking out that small gland.

Sherlock’s hips bucked and John knew he’d hit the right spot.

“Found it. We’ll play with you and then come together. Yes?” John asked and Sherlock nodded.

Removing his finger, John slowly eased his cock into Sherlock and with shallow thrusts, began teasing Sherlock’s prostate.

“I hope you don’t mind but rough sex really isn’t my thing. I just want to spend the rest of our time together making you feel good. Is that ok?” John asked. Sherlock nodded again and so John continued slowly fucking him, making sure that he continued rubbing against that oh so important spot. 

Teasing Sherlock’s prostate on each withdrawal, John reached down, firmly grasped Sherlock’s cock and began to languorously fuck him while Sherlock fucked his hand.

“I’m gonna knot you. Is that ok? Can you come?” John asked and Sherlock again shook his head.

“I don’t know you but I think that you might just be the most amazing person I’ve ever met. I hope that we meet again just to talk. Let me take off that mask and remove the gag. I just want to see your face. Hear your voice.”

Sherlock gave a strong shake of his head. No, he wouldn’t ruin this by seeing this person’s face. If it was meant to be, they’d find each other again.

Sherlock’s orgasm caught him by surprise. The man had just knotted him and that had been enough to push Sherlock over the edge. 

He felt the man throb inside of him as he came, Sherlock’s hole spasming around the man’s knot. 

“Can I bite you? Please. God. I need to bite you!” John moaned. And without a thought, Sherlock nodded and as John bit him, his orgasm intensified and he shuddered through his release. John quickly followed, his teeth never once giving up their bloody grip on Sherlock’s neck.

Locked together, they panted, both relaxed and unhurried. Sherlock still had the awful beginning to all of this locked up tight in his mind palace. Once he’d solved this case, he’d delete it all, all but these last moments with this man with whom Sherlock seemed to find himself a little bit in love.

***


	9. Exit, Stage Left

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock is returned to the Prep Room and readied for departure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While editing, I realized that I had Sherlock waking up, none the worse for wear after his experience and felt that was a huge oversight on my part so most of this chapter is new and hella wordy. Lots of run on sentences but I wanted to make sure I got my thoughts down before I forgot them. I'll come back an obsessively edit later.
> 
> Feel free to skip to the next chapter if this one drags.

***

Thirty minutes later, John’s knot had deflated and they were separated. The door to the room opened almost immediately, as if they’d been observed. John was handed his clothes, shoes, and gun, then ushered quickly from the room where he was rapidly dressed, shoved into the back of a cab and sent home. He had no idea how they knew where he lived but he was suddenly exhausted and didn’t care. 

Once he’d gotten home, he’d kicked off his shoes, removed his shirt, then trousers and pants. There was a sudden thud, and there lay John’s Baretta on the floor. Forgotten - again. He looked at it and realized that he had no urge to kill himself, he was, dare he say it? Content? In love? He didn’t believe in love at first sight; it’d never happened to him before, at least, so he didn’t think that what he was feeling was love exactly. Other than that magnificent body, John hadn’t even seen the man’s face but he felt as if he’d met his other half and only needed to find him again to feel complete. John huffed in disgust. What utter garbage. 

John picked his gun up off of the floor and placed it on his nightstand. He slept through Saturday, waking up on Sunday only long enough to have tea and toast and then dragged himself back to bed. 

He’d awoken Monday morning, showered, shaved, dressed and headed to Saint Bart’s. All in under 20 minutes. A new record.

Mike wanted to introduce him to this Sherlock Holmes to see if they’d suit as flatmates and Mike knew that Sherlock had scheduled the use of the research facilities in Molly Hooper’s morgue for 10am. John set out for Saint Bart’s, his heart lighter than it had been in a long, long time.

***

Sherlock’s experience with his exit from B-Club hadn’t been as pleasant. He hadn’t expected to enjoy himself, obviously, and if he hadn’t been able to compartmentalize the worst bits, he most assuredly wouldn’t have enjoyed any of it. 

They’d sedated him again before removing him from the breeding stand. The next time he woke up, Becca was tightening the last strap around his ankle on the exam table. Sherlock slowly opened his eyes.

“There he is! How are you feeling?” Becca asked smiling down on him. 

“Terrible,” he managed.

“Ah, you can talk! They didn’t give you as much sedation as the last time. No matter. We’ll fix that later. So long as you cooperate, I won’t give you anything else until it’s time to send you on your way. Deal?”

Sherlock nodded cautiously. He wanted to get as much of this drug out of his system as soon as possible. And, although unlikely, maybe if he cooperated, she’d forget to give him another dose. 

He saw her begin to setup the colonic irrigation system - again.

“Why? Why do you keep doing this?” Sherlock asked, his voice hoarse from disuse.

Becca finished connecting the new hose and cylinder to the machine and said;

“Well, you have a large amount of slick left inside of you and I’d be remiss in my duties if I let you leave here smelling like an Omega in heat. You wouldn’t last five minutes on the street like that. Especially since you’ll be unconscious and unable to defend yourself. No. I’m going to clean you up and out so that you’ll smell like you again. How’s your head?” Becca asked randomly.

“Hurts.”

“Probably dizzy and nauseous too, huh? Poor baby! That’s a lot of water to push through your intestines and you haven’t had anything to eat or drink in…well, you’d know the answer to that one better than I. Definitely not since you got here and that was hours ago. The first colonic has likely caused an electrolyte imbalance so I’m going to give you some nummy ringers lactate that will fix you right up!” 

Becca went through the ritual cleansing and gloving of her hands then headed to the drug cabinet, pulled out an IV bag and hung it on a pole standing at the head of the exam table. Opening a drawer, she pulled out a catheter and associated alcohol wipes and tourniquet from a drawer placing it on her tray. Removing the catheter from the sterile packaging and arranging it on the tray along with everything else, she opened an alcohol wipe and began to thoroughly clean Sherlock’s inner elbow.

“Tsk. Tsk. Tsk. Lots of scar tissue here. I hope that you’re staying away from narcotics these days,” Becca said, yet still finding a good vein on the first try. Taping everything down, she let some fluid out of the IV into the sink to get any air bubbles out, then attached the IV to the catheter. Cold fluid instantly began to climb up Sherlock’s arm and he shivered.

“Oh. Wait right here,” Becca said, walking to a metal cabinet on the other side of the room.

“Where would I go?” Sherlock asked dryly.

“Oh! Right! Silly me! Well, I have a nice toasty warm blanket right here for you,” she said as she returned and then began tucking it around his shoulders and around his waist, leaving his legs bare.

“Better?” 

Sherlock nodded. The warmth was seeping into his bones and he began to feel drowsy again.

“You can go back to sleep if you’d like. I’m just going to remove your dildo - couldn’t have slick leaking everywhere when they brought you back to me - and get the colonic started. That won’t take long but I’m not letting them take you out of here until your IV has finished. I won’t have you passing out on the street somewhere, on my conscience!”

Sherlock lay there and endured the insertion of the cylinder - again - listening as Becca flipped the switch, the now familiar feel of water being forced inside of him causing stomach cramps.

Pulling the still warm blanket down over his legs, Becca said, “No reason for you to catch a chill. I’ll be monitoring everything at the device. ”

Becca walked out of his sight and he heard her opening and closing drawers again, then pausing at the head of the exam table and began rearranging his IV.

Sherlock immediately tasted the sedative that she’d just injected into the line. It was different than what he’d been given before and as it was quickly dragging him under, he asked;

“Wha…what was that? What did you just give me?” Sherlock slurred.

“Oh, something a little stronger than just twilight sedation. You’re going to be asleep for a long time but you’ll feel better for it. I know that you must be sore from having sex for the first time but don’t worry, as soon as your colonic has finished, I’ll insert a numbing suppository into your rectum and place two in your jacket pocket for later. You’re going to want those.

Now, close your eyes and rest. It’ll all be over soon and the next time you wake up, this will just seem like a dream and you can go home.”

As Sherlock slipped into unconsciousness, his last thought was, ‘More like a nightmare.’ And then he didn’t think about anything for a long time.

***


	10. Meeting At The Morgue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock's first "real" meeting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, original chapter now with even more edits! I forgot to have Mike ask John about his B Club experience. Duh! I mean, I'd want to know what happened, wouldn't you?

***

Sherlock had woken up beneath a bridge surrounded by members of his homeless network. They appeared to have been guarding him.

“What day is it?” Sherlock asked a mousy looking woman.

“Sunday morning, Mister Holmes.”

“Sunday? I’ve lost an entire day!” Sherlock exclaimed, leaping to his feet. A sudden wave of dizziness hit him and he leaned against the nearest wall for support. He’d slept but wasn’t rested. Sedatives were like that.

He thanked his friends for looking out for him and then slowly walked home. He hadn’t planned to sleep but the next thing he knew, it was 8am Monday morning and he was due to go to Saint Bart’s to meet with Molly and examine forensic evidence from another case at 10am.

He took a quick shower, hurriedly toweled himself dry, giving a cursory tousle to his damp curls. He’d begun pulling on his pants when he felt a pain in his rectum that took his breath away. He picked his suit jacket up off of the back of the couch where he’d thrown it the day before, found the promised suppositories and, ignoring the reason why he needed to use one, went back into the bathroom, inserted one and felt relief almost immediately. He’d then dressed, grabbing his coat, but as he began to put his left arm into the sleeve, he felt a sudden stab of pain in his shoulder. He decided that he couldn’t be bothered with more pain and ignored it. Once outside, he hailed a taxi and headed to Bart’s without giving one single thought to his experience on Friday night. It was as if it had never happened.

***

Saint Bart’s

Sherlock sat at a microscope looking at evidence for a different crime that he was looking into for Lestrade. 

Although he’d heard the lab door open, he hadn’t looked up. Why would he care who randomly accessed the lab? 

He continued studying the evidence closely while Molly, who had been hovering nearby, went immediately to the new arrivals greeting them with an effusive, “Mike! John!” Sherlock rolled his eyes and ignored them all.

As they chattered on about nothing, Sherlock began to feel uncomfortable. The hairs on his arms stood on end and his neck and shoulder began to throb. 

He was still trying to work it out when he scented an unknown Alpha. Well, no, not exactly unknown. He ran the scent along his tongue, tasting it’s familiarity while trying to identify this new person.

“Sherlock!” Mike greeted him jovially but Sherlock was lost in trying to discover how he knew the owner of this tantalizing scent. His shoulder ached again and he rubbed at it absently.

Giving up on his personal challenge of “who are you and how do I know you” game, Sherlock looked up at the two men now standing before him. Giving Mike a cursory glance, Sherlock’s eyes moved next to the unknown person, and stared. He knew this man…but how…

“Sherlock, this is Doctor John Watson…”

“Looking for a flatmate, are you?” Sherlock said, still distracted by his thoughts.

“Yes,” John smiled. “How did you know?”

“It’s obvious. I complained to Mike about being unable to find a flatmate and today he appears with you by his side. I see no other reason why he’d bring you here and introduce us,” Sherlock finished, still racking his brain attempting to identify this man. It was tantalizingly close. On the tip of his tongue…

“Can I borrow your mobile?” Sherlock asked suddenly.

“Um…sure,” John said, handing it to Sherlock.

Sherlock scrolled rapidly through John’s contacts, looking for anyone that they might have in common but, other than Mike Stamford, he didn’t recognize anyone else. 

He handed John his mobile and stared into the distance, inhaling John’s scent and thinking. And thinking…

He found John in the last place he thought he’d find him; in the deepest, darkest part of his Mind Palace.

He knew John because John…John was his rapist.

Sherlock suddenly burst out; “I have to go.” Then he rushed over to where his coat was hanging and threw it about himself as if covering himself with a cape. He seemed incredibly vulnerable to John in that moment and his heart gave a surprising squeeze.

Sherlock stopped himself in the act of opening the door to exit the lab, but instead turned back to John and gave him an inscrutable look.

“Meet me tomorrow at 7pm.” Sherlock said, opening the door and heading out.

“Sherlock!” John called.

Sherlock popped his head back round.

“Yes?”

“Where? Where am I meeting you at 7pm?”

“Ah. 221B, Baker Street. Don’t be late,” he said, the door closing slowly behind him as he dashed off.

“Is he always like that?” John asked?

“No. Sometimes he’s worse,” Mike laughed.

John stared at the door that the man had so recently thrown himself through, and thought about this Sherlock Holmes. He didn’t know why, but he liked the man already and had felt a strange desire to drop everything and follow him wherever he lead. John shuddered.

“Cold?” Mike asked.

“Just someone walking over my grave. Come on, let’s get to work.”

Chatting amiably, they began walking to the elevators, where Mike would head two floors down and John, another two floors below that, to ground level and the clinic.

“What about Friday night? How was it?” Mike asked eagerly, stepping into the empty elevator.

“No time for that now, Mike. Let’s save that for Friday and another trip to Bartleby’s, yeah?” John smiled.

“Oh ho! Hoping for a repeat of Friday’s experience?” Mike laughed.

“No. No. Nothing like that. I can’t afford it and what are the odds that I’d meet someone half as amazing as that mysterious man again?”

“Sounds like someone has a crush!”

“Nah. Well. Maybe. Just a little.” John said sheepishly.

“I can’t wait to hear all about it! Must I really wait until Friday to hear the details?” Mike asked in mock disappointment.

“Yes,” John laughed. “You’ll manage to get through the week somehow. Not sure how many details I’m going to give up anyhow. Although I remember some highlights, for the most part, the rest is a blur.”

“A “blur,” huh? Don’t be like that!”

“No. Seriously. I had a lot to drink and then went on to have a scotch or two at the bar at B Club after you’d gone,” John said. 

“You’re lucky you didn’t wind up in hospital with alcohol poisoning.”

“Yeah. I thought that as well. Good thing that Bart’s is only a couple of blocks away, eh?” John smiled.

“We’ll see what I can get out of you Friday night.”

“You won’t get much of an argument out of me on that score. I’d like to remember more of the details myself.”

“My floor,” said Mike when the elevator dinged. As Mike began to exit the elevator, he held the doors open and turned around to John and asked;

“Lunch later?” Mike asked hopefully.

“Can’t. I have a full patient load all this week. Nice try but you’re going to have to wait until Friday whether you like it or not,” John said with a laugh.

Mike released the elevator doors and stepped out on his floor.

“You, Doctor Watson, are a tease!”

“Bye, Mike,” John said as the doors closed. He heard a muffled, “Bye!” from Mike as the elevator began its decent.

‘Maybe I’ll have remembered more by then,’ John hoped.

And so Mike and John went their separate ways, one man happy to have introduced two seemingly compatible people, the other wondering why the hell he was so utterly captivated by someone he was sure that he’d never met before today.

***

Sherlock ran up the steps to his flat, slamming the door behind him and throwing his coat on the rack. He didn’t know what to do. Should he tell John who he was? How they’d met? He’d seen the quick look of puzzled interest in John’s eyes. He was drawn to Sherlock just as much as Sherlock was drawn to him.

Sherlock’s shoulder ached again so he went into the en suite, took off his shirt and turned his back to the mirror to see if he’d been injured somehow.

Teeth marks. Over his scent gland. The wound was ugly and raw and Sherlock traced the marks with the tip of his finger.

John, he was drawn to John. Wanted John. Were they bonded then? How was that even possible? Could two Alphas form a bond together? They couldn’t produce children together, that much he knew for certain. 

Sherlock looked at the wound again, and smiled. He had a bond mate and he couldn’t wait to tell him.

Then, as he began to more closely examine the situation, the smile slowly slip off of his face until all that remained was a worried frown.

‘I have a bond mate who doesn’t even know who I am. How do I tell him without scaring him off?’ Sherlock’s normally agile mind ground to a halt. He had no idea how he’d even broach the subject, much less have John agree to hear him out.

‘Hi. You don’t remember me but we met last week at B Club. I was held against my will and forced to play Omega to your Alpha. You were my rapist for the night but, don’t worry, I don’t blame you…’ 

No. Even Sherlock realized that that probably wasn’t the best approach. He briefly considered asking Mycroft for advice on how to handle the situation then remembered that hell would freeze over before he’d ask Mycroft for anything. 

That thought was immediately followed by the fact that he’d have to tell Mycroft about the rape to get said advice. He could fabricate a story but Mycroft would know that something was wrong. He always did. And once he found out the truth, Sherlock wasn’t so sure that Mycroft would find John innocent in all this. No. Mycroft would be set upon revenge and heads would roll, especially Doctor John Watson’s. 

When had life become so complicated?


	11. 221B Baker Street

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John meets Sherlock at the flat to decide whether or not he should take it. Sherlock has already decided that John's moving in, he just hasn't realized it yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the short chapter. I was bored writing this and I think it shows. There's no action, it's all just exposition, getting the boys on their first case together. I decided to quit procrastinating and just post it so that I could get back to the angst. 
> 
> Thank you for your patience.

***

John stood in front of 221B Baker Street, admiring the brownstone. The location was perfect. It was even closer to Saint Bart’s than current bedsit and he seriously doubted that he’d be able to afford even a quarter of the rent on this place, much less half. 

He paced back and forth in front of the building, wondering if it was a good idea to move in with a strange man he’d just met. He knew absolutely nothing about him other than the fact that he was a genius detective who helped Scottland Yard from time to time. Mike had vouched for Sherlock though, which was actually more reliable than if he’d had a background check run on him. 

Was that enough to make it worth not renewing his bed sit at the end of the month, though? He’d had a hard time finding a place that was both affordable and convenient to Bart’s and he was loathe to give it up. The minute he gave notice, he knew that there were 20 more people lined up right behind him, eager to take his place. No. If he gave it up, it was gone and there was no getting it back. He doubted he’d be lucky enough to find a similar situation if this flat share didn’t work out.

He stopped pacing and looked at the front door again, finally deciding that he might as well go in anyhow. It couldn’t hurt to just have a look around. He also didn’t want to stand up the mysterious and intriguing Sherlock Holmes. There was no doubt that he was drawn to this man whom he’d never met before today. It felt so…odd to John. This immediate attraction. He’d been instantly attracted to people in the past but it was usually sexually. And no doubt about it, Sherlock Holmes was gorgeous but…it felt different this time. Maybe Sherlock would accept an invitation to meet for a coffee with John even if he didn’t take the flat. He could only ask.

Suddenly, the rattling of a window being forced open, sounded through the quiet evening. John looked up to see Sherlock Holmes poking his head out, staring straight at him.

“Unless you’re planning on living in the street, I suggest you view the flat from the inside,” Sherlock said, sounding annoyed. He then slammed the window shut, the glass rattling in its frame from the force used to close it, all before John could finish his reply.

“Oh. Right. Sorry…” John began but it was already too late. He couldn’t even see Sherlock standing in the window anymore. The man was definitely rude…and odd. Very definitely odd. And intriguing.

Smiling, John walked up to the front door, opened it and stepped inside. Things seemed to be looking up.

***

Sherlock was inside the flat, pacing back and forth, waiting for one John Watson to grace him with his appearance. He wasn’t late, Sherlock was just impatient to see him.

Catching a glimpse of movement from the corner of his eye, Sherlock walked to the window and saw that John was outside and also pacing. Huffing in exasperation, he opened the window and called out; 

“Unless you’re planning on living in the street, I suggest you view the flat from the inside.” He didn’t wait for an answer, just slammed the window shut and resumed pacing the living room. 

Hearing the front door open and then the sound of footsteps upon the stairs, he raced to the door, flung it open, looked at John and without preamble, said;

“Finally!” Then he turned, leaving the door open, sat down in his chair and waited - impatiently - for John to enter the flat. Lord, but the man was slow. Sherlock would have to change that. He hated waiting for…well, pretty much anything.

John walked into the flat, an amused expression on his face.

“What’s so humorous?” Sherlock demanded.

“Nothing. Nothing at all,” John replied, looking around the crowded flat.

“Well? When are you moving in?” 

“I only just got here,” John laughed. “Give me a few minutes to look around.”

Tedious. This man was tedious. How hard was it to make a decision?

“What do you expect to find? It’s a flat. One bedroom on upstairs, mine is over there,” Sherlock said, nodding in the direction of his room. “There’s a kitchen, bath, and living room. Nothing surprising. Well? When are you moving in?”

John laughed again. “Most people like to investigate a place before they let it.”

“I’ve already investigated and I assure you that it meets both of our needs.”

“Really? Well, if you say it’s fine, why shouldn’t that be good enough for me?” John asked with a grin. He was having a good time. Sherlock Holmes might be a pompous prig, but he was an entertaining pompous prig.

“Yes. I was wondering that myself,” Sherlock said seriously. “You can move in tonight.”

“Whoah. We haven’t even discussed the rent…”

“You can afford it,” Sherlock interrupted. 

“And how do you know that?”

Sherlock just rolled his eyes.

“Ok. Fine. If you say that I can afford it, it must be so.”

‘This Watson fellow was smarter than he looked!’ Sherlock thought, relieved that he wasn’t attracted to a dullard. That would have been disheartening.

“Exactly. So…?” Sherlock asked impatiently.

“The end of the month,” John replied.

“The end of the month?! That’s a week away!” Sherlock exclaimed.

“I’m paid up until the end of the month and I don’t want to waste the money,” John said firmly.

“But…”

“I’ll move in on the first of next month.”

“But…”

“Next month, Sherlock,” John said with finality.

Well, it was just a week. He could wait a week, couldn’t he? Sherlock thought. Just then, his mobile buzzed, notifying him that he had a text. Taking the mobile out of his pocket, he read the brief message, then placed back from whence it had come. He looked up at John.

“Bad news?” John asked.

“No. It’s terrific news actually,” Sherlock said, leaping out of his chair with excitement. “The Scottland Yard Detective Inspector said that they’ve found another body! It’s like Christmas and my birthday all rolled into one!” He exclaimed.

John looked at him, rethinking moving in with this madman.

“You’re taking the flat, John,” Sherlock replied.

“Are you a mind reader or something?”

“I’m observant. You’re wondering if you might be about to move in with a ghoul.”

“Well, not exactly. No. Someone who’s just a little too excited about murder, maybe, but a ghoul? No. Not until proven otherwise, at least.”

“John,” Sherlock said, exasperated. “I’m a detective and I’m working on a case. I need evidence which the killer has thoughtfully provided with this new victim. I love my work, John. It’s everything. You should know that. I don’t have time for anything else.”

“Oooo…kay,” John said hesitatingly.

“Here,” Sherlock reached into his pocket and tossed a key to John. “The key to the flat, although I rarely lock the door since this is also my place of business but I thought that a key might give you a sense of security, no matter how false that may be.”

“Gee. Thanks,” John said with a touch of sarcasm. “Security?”

“My job is very dangerous. I apologize. I should have told you that up front,” Sherlock lied. He hadn’t wanted to scare John away but the cat was out of the proverbially bag now and that was that.

“Dangerous? Dangerous how?” John’s eyes were sparkling, clearly intrigued.

“Oh, you know, just the things that go along with being a detective. Visiting crime scenes, studying dead bodies, chasing criminals, risking my life looking for answers; I’m sure it’s nothing that you’d be interested in,” Sherlock said, baiting the hook.

“Well, I might be…” John started.

“Excellent! You can be my medical expert! I need an assistant to counteract the stupidity of Anderson.”

“Well, first of all, I’m no one’s assistant…” John began.

“Just a figure of speech, I assure you,” Sherlock said, cutting him off. 

“And I already have a full time job, Sherlock.”

“Not really. A locum tenens doctor isn’t a full time position. You’re basically an on-call physician who fills in in the absence of another physician,” Sherlock stated in what John was quickly learning, typically rude response. And, who the hell was this ’Anderson?’

“Yes. I’m well aware of what a locum tenens, thank you, but it’s still a job for which I need to be available on a moment’s notice. Especially if I want to be asked back, which I do,” John said, annoyed and somewhat insulted.

Ignoring everything that John had just said, Sherlock asked, “Are you coming?”He headed towards the door and was gone without waiting for an answer.

John hadn’t seen anything other than the living room. He didn’t even know if the upstairs bedroom had a bed. He hadn’t signed a lease or worked out any of the details of sharing the flat and this mad man just expected him to go with him to a crime scene at a moment’s notice.

“Absolutely,” John said to no one in particular then he turned and followed Sherlock into the unknown.

***


	12. The Scene Of The Crime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Beta suspected of being kidnapped and forced into prostitution, is found dead in a house belonging to someone else. Sherlock doesn't take it well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If this feels like there should have been more to this chapter, you're right. It just got so long that I cut it. I hope you still like it.

***

Tommy watched as the police milled around in front of a townhouse a few doors down from where he was currently hiding in the darkened recesses of a doorway. He’d being dealing, as usual, when he’d heard sirens, then saw cop cars pulling up. That’s when he’d stepped back to eavesdrop so that he could tell Chris what had happened. Chris liked to be kept informed. Especially where the police were concerned.

He watched as a taxi pulled up next to one of the police cars, and then stared in shock as he saw first one, then another man emerge from the vehicle.

Sherlock Holmes AND John Watson?! Together? Had they already known each other before the Club? Tommy didn’t think so but stranger things had happened and where Sherlock Holmes was concerned, strange things always happened. Privately, Tommy still thought that Sherlock was a bit magical. He knew it was silly so he didn’t say anything about it to Chris but that didn’t change the way he felt inside.

When no one was looking, he scurried to the next townhome, hiding in the shadow of a tree. It was late; half ten, and it was unlikely that he’d be seen but Sherlock knew him on sight and he couldn’t risk it.

When he’d finally gotten close enough to hear them talking, he froze and just listened, his mind recording everything to tell Chris later.

***

“Oi! And who’s this? You can’t just bring your boyfriend to watch as you show off at OUR crime scenes.” Donovan said rudely. She was a tall black woman, with a shock of curly black hair and a perpetual scowl on her face. She was glaring at Sherlock Holmes as he’d gone under the crime scene tape, then held it so that John could follow.

“Ah, Detective Donovan. How pleasant to see you here and without Anderson too! Too bad your date was interrupted by actually having to do your job,” Sherlock replied, noting her civilian dress clothes.

“How did you…never mind. Who’s this man supposed to be?” Sally asked belligerently. 

“Not that I owe you an explanation but I will introduce you so that John can put a name to your rude behavior.”

John shifted nervously. The dislike, perhaps even hatred, between these two was palpable and John felt uncomfortable being a witness to it. 

“It’s ok, Sherlock. I’ll grab a taxi. I need to head back to my flat anyhow,” John offered.

“No. John. You’ll wait right here. It will only take a minute or so to explain Sally’s job to her. That is, if she’s intelligent enough to grasp the concept of having an assistant,” Sherlock said, sneering at Sally who sneered right back.

“I’m not your assistant,” John corrected but both Sally and Sherlock ignored him.

“This is Doctor John Watson and he’s here to provide the expert medical opinion that Anderson is woefully unqualified to provide. Detective Inspective Lestrade has already cleared his attendance here. I’ll wait while you confirm that with him.”

“Just get out of here,” Sally said in disgust.

“Gladly,” said Sherlock and he held up the police tape once again so that John could enter the crime scene.

“You asked Lestrade if I could attend the crime scene with you?” John asked.

“No,” Sherlock said, setting a brisk pace in the direction of a tall, silver haired man who was currently talking to a uniformed policeman.

“No? But he knows that I’m coming with you?”

“No.”

“But what if that detective had called Lestrade and asked?”

Sherlock let out an inelegant, and, for him unusual, snort. “Sally doesn’t do anything that requires the slightest effort. It was a fairly easy gamble that she wouldn’t bother calling Lestrade over and even if she had, Lestrade would have covered for me. He knows that I wouldn’t help him with this murder if he didn’t. I am a genius, after all, and if he wants to resolve this case, he needs me. If I say that I require that you be here, then here you shall be. No questions asked,” Sherlock said, pompously.

“Is that…is that DI Lestrade?” John asked, slightly out of breath from trying to keep up with Sherlock’s long legged stride.

“Ah, Lestrade,” Sherlock said, ignoring John’s question as he walked up to the DI. “What mess has the Yard gotten themselves into today?”

“Who’s this?” He asked with a nod toward John.

“Doctor John Watson, my medical assistant.”

“I’m not your assistant,” John said only to be ignored again.

“We have Anderson…” Lestrade began.

“Anderson?! He won’t work with me,” Sherlock said smugly.

“Perhaps if you wouldn’t insult his intelligence constantly, you might be able to work together,” Lestrade said, infinitely patient. ‘He’s been through this before,’ John thought. ‘A lot.’

“‘Intelligence?’ Intelligence?!” Sherlock sputtered.

“Just leave it. We need to discuss this case,” Lestrade said tiredly.

‘Yep,’ thought John. Definitely been through this before.

‘Fine. Go on, then. Tell me what little you know,’ Sherlock said, as if granting Lestrade a huge favor.

Lestrade first looked heavenward and then began to give Sherlock the details of what they’d discovered so far. It wasn’t much so Sherlock’s dig was especially sharp at the moment.

“The murder victim is a Beta male. He was beaten but we won’t know what caused his death until Molly does the autopsy,” Lestrade said as he led them through the already open door and into the living room of the townhome. 

They didn’t have to go very far. It looked like the man had been killed while trying to get away.

Sherlock stooped down to get a closer look at the body and John moved opposite of him.

“John? What do you see?” Sherlock asked, handing John latex gloves to put on. Sherlock was already wearing his. John hadn’t even seen him put them on.

John examined the body and began giving his option about what he’d discovered.

“Well, there’s not much I can tell from him lying here, still clothed and face down. From what I can see though, the contusions on the back of his head are superficial but that’s without knowing what kind of damage was done to his face. There’s quite a lot of blood,” John said. “But it doesn’t look like a life threatening blood loss.”

Sherlock nodded. “Anything else?”

“His clothes don’t fit him so it looks like he’s either lost a lot of weight recently, or he’s wearing clothes belonging to someone else.

“Good. Very good.”

“It almost looks as if someone else dressed him,” John said thoughtfully.

Looking up, Sherlock asked, “Do you have anymore information, Lestrade?” 

“Yes. This isn’t his house. He’s one of our missing Betas who was assumed kidnapped and forced into prostitution. No idea why they’d dump his body here. We’re looking for the owner now.”

Sherlock had paused when Lestrade had mentioned the forced prostitution.

“Hey! How did things turn out at that brothel you visited? Was it part of the prostitution ring?”

“I…I’m not sure,” Sherlock stammered, memories flooding back. He’d locked those away, dammit! How could they escape?

“What did you say?” Sherlock asked.

“I said that you think you’re so smart but we figured out which brothel you went to last Friday.”

“Good for you,” Sherlock said quickly, trying to avoid having to hear the the Club’s name again.

“But don’t you want to make sure we got it right?”

“No, Lestrade. I neither care nor want to hear about your minor victories.”

“Well, I’m right proud of myself so I’m telling you anyway. It was B Club, wasn’t it?” Lestrade said triumphantly, completely missing the quick look that John gave Sherlock. Something wasn’t right here but what?

‘Friday? Friday. Sherlock was there Friday?’ He thought he might remember seeing someone as stunning as Sherlock. Then again, he was pissed and didn’t remember much except for his amazing Beta.

“Well? Am I right?” Lestrade asked, smirking.

“Yes.” Sherlock replied flatly.

“Hey. Don’t be a sore loser. Are you too proud to admit when you’ve been beaten?”

“No. Congratulations,” Sherlock said in that same flat tone of voice which Lestrade seemed oblivious to but John noticed.

“Well? Were they using kidnapped Betas as prostitutes there?”

John wanted to know the answer to this as well. All of the things he’d been told that his Beta wanted; to be bound, gagged, hooded…he didn’t want to think that he’d just raped someone. Whether unknowingly or not, he’d never forgive himself. 

“No. There weren’t any…Betas being forced to have sex. “Just” prostitutes,” Sherlock murmured.

John let out the breath that he hadn’t realized that he’d been holding. Thank god! Sherlock looked up and studied him, a strange expression on his face.

John gave the deceased a sad look. “Poor man. Nobody should have that happen to them. I’d kill the bastards if they did that to someone I cared about. I’d find them and make them pay.”

“Well, that made me uncomfortable. You don’t have any vigilante tendencies that you’d like to admit too, would you John?” Lestrade asked half jokingly.

“No. No. Nothing like that. It was just talk,” John said. It hadn’t been just talk though. He was dead serious. If he found out that someone he loved had been hurt by these people, the revenge that he’d take would be swift and merciless. Even though it was on behalf of a non-existent person, John got angry just thinking about it.

John wasn’t normally a violent man, but he did have a huge protective streak inside of him and it was completely remorseless when it came to his loved ones. If he’d had any, that is. Well, Harry. Yeah. He’d get revenge for Harry. He hoped that he was never tested on that one.

Sherlock had been focused on John throughout his entire speech and he flushed, embarrassed to find that he’d become semi-erect just thinking about John avenging him and what did that mean? Was he a damsel in distress who needed rescuing and protection? 

‘Not I! Not the great Sherlock Holmes!’ He thought. ‘I can handle all of this on my own, if and when I choose to!’ But deep inside of his Mind Palace, the self-aware portion that knew the truth, whispered ‘John Watson. Help me, please.”


	13. Revelations and Repentance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John makes a confession while Tommy runs to tell his brother about Sherlock Holmes and John Watson. The squealer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I posted two chapters in a row trying to make up for the lame meet and greet before them. I haven't gone to bed yet and it's almost 10am so my quality guarantee might be a little shaky but I hope you'll enjoy it in spite of that.

***

Sherlock absentmindedly rubbed his sore should, thinking. If they were to have a proper bond; and that depended wholly on whether or not two Alphas could even do that, he’d need to bite John to close the loop. To make it permanent. He still had no inkling as to John’s opinion of Alpha on Alpha relationships and Sherlock, who up until now hadn’t even given bonding a thought, didn’t care about who got together and who didn’t. But now…now, things were different. Very different.

Ever since John had started to bond with Sherlock, accident or no, Sherlock was trapped in a limbo of wanting his mate but unable to have him. Not yet, at least. If John decided that he didn’t want a relationship with him, he wasn’t sure how that would affect him. Would become a recluse, too nervous to leave the house or concentrate on the work? He’d die without the work and, right now, he felt as if he’d die without John Watson too. He decided to search for information on the subject as soon as he got home.

“What was that?” Sherlock hadn’t heard a single thing for the past 15 minutes. He looked up only to find Lestrade gone and John looking down on him where he had remained crouched next to the body when this had all started. 

“I asked if you were alright? You were flushed and now you’re white as a sheet. You ok?” John asked, concern showing in his eyes.

“Yes, I, uh, sometimes I retreat into my Mind Palace and the outside world ceases to exist while I’m in there,” Sherlock said absently.

“‘Mind Palace,’ eh? You’ll have to tell me what that means when I move in and it’s not 3:30 in the morning.” John gave a jaw-cracking yawn.

Sherlock quickly stood up but dizziness overtook him and he was only saved from falling by the grace of John Watson being close enough to catch him.

“Are you ill? Do you have a fever?” John asked, simultaneously putting the back of one hand against Sherlock’s forehead.

“I’m fine, John. I just stood up too quickly. You can let me go now,” Sherlock said.

John held onto Sherlock a little, and looked into his eyes for a moment.

“Ok. Yeah. Let’s get you home anyhow. I’ll fix you some nice tea and then you can have a nap,” John said, releasing Sherlock and stepping back. 

Sherlock felt the loss of John’s touch keenly. Melancholia begin to slowly wash over him as if he stood beneath a waterfall. 

‘Pull yourself together, Holmes!’ He thought.

“I don’t nap, John. I barely sleep,” Sherlock said, brushing invisible lint off of his exquisitely tailored jacket.

“We’ll see,” was John’s only reply.

They began walking to the road to hail a taxi, both deep in thought. John finally spoke.

“Sherlock. I need to tell you something and I’m afraid that it might change your opinion on whether or not I’d be a good flatmate for you.”

“You don’t need to tell me anything. I’m a good judge of character and yours is more than suitable for a flat share.” Sherlock was dragging his feet but he saw a taxi in the distance and raised his hand.

“Sherlock. This is important.” John looked up at him.

The taxi pulled next to them and as Sherlock reached for the car door, John put a hand on his upper arm, stilling him.

“No. I need to get this off of my chest.”

“If you must,” Sherlock sighed.

“I’ve been known to frequent brothels from time to time during a dry spell. I hadn’t had sex since I was shot in Afghanistan and sent home.”

“Are you two getting in or not?” The cabbie asked impatiently.

“Just, just start the meter and give us a minute, would you?” John asked, a bit of Captain John Watson anger tinging his voice.

Holding up his hands in a placating gesture, the cabbie said, “Ok. Ok. I was just asking. You and your boyfriend take your time.” He put the light on overhead saying that he had a fair, started the meter then fished a magazine from beneath his seat and began reading.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” John said, crushing Sherlock’s heart a little.

“Whatever mate. It’s none of my concern. If you’re not getting in at the moment, could you please shut the car door? It’s getting a bit nippy in here.”

John moved to close the door but Sherlock was there ahead of him and closed it first.

“Please, John. Say what you have to say so we can go home.”

“I just thought you should know the type of person you having moving into your flat. Does it bother you that I’ve used brothels in the past,” John asked, anxious about the answer for some reason.

Looking John in the eye, Sherlock said, “Why would I care about that? I don’t know why prostitution is illegal anyhow. The people are selling their own bodies. That’s their business. Except in the case of forced prostitution, which is absolutely unacceptable. No, I couldn’t care less what you do in your private life.”

“Oh. Ok. That’s great.” John agreed opening the car door and getting in, he slid over to the far side and making room for Sherlock.

Still standing outside, holding the car door open, Sherlock paused when John said,

“One more thing.”

“Oh, lord. What is it? Can’t we discuss this on the drive back to the flat?” Sherlock asked, just wishing the conversation was over. 

“I was at B-Club on Friday night,” John blurted out.

“I know, John. I know.” Sherlock looked away while John took a seat in the taxi, stunned by Sherlock’s revelation. He’d known? 

“Sherlock,” John started.

“Not now, John. I think that you might be right; I’m coming down with something. I suddenly feel sick to my stomach. Please get in so that we can go home.” Sherlock rested his head against the window hoping to cool down his heated cheeks.

John studied Sherlock for a minute. Sherlock was flushed again and John hoped that it wasn’t because of what he’d just told Sherlock. John felt awful about it and he didn’t know why. Why should he feel bad that Sherlock knew that he’d been with the occasional prostitute? It almost felt as if…as if he’d been unfaithful to him. 

“221b Baker Street,” Sherlock said, then closed his eyes making it clear that he was done talking. They drove the rest of the way to Baker Street in silence. John feeling guilty the entire way.

***

Tommy burst into Chris’s office without knocking first but Chris didn’t complain. He just sat and patiently waited to hear what Tommy had to say.

He took in Tommy’s frantic breathing, the sweat running down his temples, his anxious demeanor, and asked,

“What’s wrong?” 

“I saw Sherlock Holmes!” 

“Well, he does live in London. What’s so unusual about that?” Chris hoped that this story didn’t take forever. He needed to get back to the books. They’d gotten a fresh batch of Betas last night and he wanted to add them to the other kidnapped Betas. Outwardly, though, he was calm. Tommy was Tommy and there was nothing for it but to hear him out.

“He was at a crime scene. Where one of our Betas had been dumped.”

“Considering that we left the Beta in his father’s house as a warning not to go to the police else he suffer the same fate, I think that it was normal to see him there too. I don’t think he’ll be ratting us out any time soon though,” Chris gave an icy smile.

“But…but, that’s not all! He had that John Watson Alpha with him. They looked right chummy too.”

Chris shot bolt upright in his chair fixing angry eyes on Tommy.

“How would that even happen? I was sure that they didn’t know each other,” Chris demanded.

“I think that Holmes bloke sniffed Watson out and approached him. Do you think he’ll tell?” Tommy asked, still anxious.

“I don’t know what Mister Holmes’ reason was for getting in touch with John Watson…”

“How do you know that it wasn’t the other way around?” Tommy burst out.

“Tommy. What have I told you about interrupting me when I’m speaking?”

“Not to do it,” Tommy said, hanging his head in shame.

“That’s easy,” Chris started. Tommy looked up and met his eyes.

“There’s no way that John Watson could have detected Sherlock’s scent. Not between the alcohol, drugs, and synthetic slick. Not to mention the thorough cleansing and washing that Becca did to render him scentless. No, I think that Sherlock literally sniffed him out and approached him. What I want to know is why.”

“But. How could Sherlock detect John’s scent then? He was drugged, more than once, not to mention all the Omega pheromones in the room.”

“I heard that Watson tried to remove the hood from Sherlock’s head. His crotch, for lack of a better word, would have been in Sherlock’s face. Long enough that he could detect Watson’s scent and know it if he smelled it again.”

Tommy looked at Chris, hero worship clear in his eyes and Chris was satisfied. Sitting back in his chair, he said,

“I think that we need to send a couple of the guys over to visit Mister Holmes and impress upon him the error of his ways and to remind him to keep his mouth shut.”

“Chris?” Tommy ventured timidly.

“Yes, Tommy?”

Nervously pulling at the sleeve of his shirt, Tommy asked,

“You didn’t murder that Beta, did you?” 

“Of course not! How many times have I told you that I don’t kill people?” Chris asked, letting a hint of exasperation seep into his voice. Just enough for Tommy to take him seriously but not enough to scare him.

“You’re right. I’m so sorry that I asked. It’s just, when I heard about it and that the person we’d dumped off last night was dead, I was worried that our business had changed. I don’t want to be a murderer, Chris.” The worry clear in his voice.

“No. We’re not murdering people. Someone must have gone in there after the guys had gone and killed him. It happens.” To a lot of people who piss him off, Chris thought. He kept that thought from showing on his face, giving Tommy the most sincere smile that he had.

“How can I help you with Sherlock?” Tommy asked eagerly. He really was like a puppy, Chris thought. 

“Keep an eye on him from a distance. A distance, Tommy, I mean it. He was distracted last night, otherwise I’m sure that he would have sensed you there. The minute he’s alone in his flat, call me and I’ll send the guys over to educate him. Can you do that for me?”

“Absolutely! You can count on me! I’m going to start right now!” Tommy jumped up and scampered out of the office accidentally slamming the door behind him.

Tommy poked his head back in and said sheepishly, “That was an accident. I didn’t mean to slam the door.”

“It’s fine. I know that you didn’t mean to do it.” Chris smiled at Tommy as if absolving him of his crimes. As he closed the door, a smile broke out on Tommy’s face in gratitude and then he was gone.

Chris shook his head. ‘Little brother, we don’t kill people, our people kill people,’ he thought.

Picking up his mobile, he hit speed dial and called one of the aforementioned people. The person picked up immediately and asked, “Yeah, boss?”

“Adam, I have a job for you and whomever you want to take with you. You remember Sherlock Holmes?”

“Yes, sir,” Adam replied.

“Well, he’s been a bad, bad boy and needs to be taught a lesson and you’re my number one man for that job.”

“Thank you, sir. Do I kill him at the end?”

“No. Not yet. We’ll give him one more chance to tow the line before taking drastic measures. He’s well known and his murder would draw too much attention on our little operation. We need to be a little circumspect and not go on a murdering spree just because Sherlock Holmes is inconvenient.”

“Yes, sir. Any particular areas you’d like us to pay attention too, boss?” Adam asked.

“No. No. You know your craft much better than I. I’m leaving that detail in your very capable hands. I only have one request,” Chris said, mouth twisted in an evil smile.

“What’s that, boss?”

“Just make sure that you put him in the hospital. For at least, let’s say, four days? That should give him enough time to think about what he did wrong.”

“Yes, sir. When should I take him out?”

“Tommy’s going to be on the lookout for when Sherlock is home alone and will call me right away with that info which I will then relay to you immediately.”

“He could call me direct, save you the time and hassle,” Adam offered.

“It’s kind of you to offer but I’m afraid that you make Tommy nervous and I don’t want him jumping out of his skin. It’s exhausting.”

“Yes, sir. If I might make a suggestion…”

“Go right ahead, I pay you for your brains as much as your muscles,” Chris replied.

“Thank you, sir. Would you mind asking Tommy to let you know when Holmes leaves the flat alone? It’d be much easier to rough him up in an alley than in a flat where neighbors were around. It might affect the quality of our…lesson if others heard it and some well meaning citizen called the cops. Plus, we can do it in a nice place so that he can take a nap while he waits for someone to realize he’s missing and come looking for him,” Adam finished.

“Brilliant! Much better idea. I’ll let him know! Happy hunting!”

“Thanks, boss.”

“Oh, and Adam?”

“Yes?” Adam asked without a shred of trepidation. 

“There will be a bonus for you and your man once you’ve completed the mission. You’ll have earned it.”

“Thank you sir!” 

“Not at all. Now, off with you.” Chris disconnected without saying goodby and then used speed dial again to call Tommy.

“Hey, Tommy? Change of plans. Here’s what we’re going to do…

***


	14. Hand Jive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John takes Sherlock home from the crime scene and puts him to bed. No. Not THAT way! Sheesh! You people! ;)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another hard chapter to write, nothing exciting happening, just fluff.

***

John had gotten Sherlock home, fixed him some tea, and made sure that he drank it - after he put, what was to his mind, an ungodly amount of sugar in it.

Studying Sherlock’s pale face as he lay on the sofa, eyes closed, John worried about him. He didn’t look well at all and his hands seemed to have a nervous tremble. He considered whether he should just stay the night to make sure that Sherlock had someone to take care of him in case he got worse.

“I don’t need you to spend the night, John,” Sherlock said, eyes still closed.

“How did you…” John began.

“You’re hovering and hesitating, clearly thinking about whether or not you should stay and take care of me. I appreciate the thought, but I don’t require a nursemaid. You may leave now.”

“What? Right now?”

“John, while we worked together tonight, you proved yourself to be a very intelligent, confident and reliable fellow. Please don’t do anything that might change my opinion of you.”

“You could at least look at me when you insult me,” John said, smiling. 

“John, you’ll come to learn that I couldn’t possibly keep my eyes open every time you feel that I may have insulted you. It’s just not feasible. A person has to rest their eyes sometime.”

John stared at Sherlock in silence and then he laughed startling Sherlock enough to open his eyes.

Sherlock sat up and just stared at John, eyebrows furrowed. Had he misjudged John? Was he inviting an insane person to live with him?

The look of consternation on Sherlock’s face caused John to laugh even harder. He finally sat down in a chair near the sofa, hiccuping a little as the laughter gradually stopped, wiping at the tears in his eyes.

“You’re clearly overtired, John. Go home.”

“You know what?” John said, smiling, “I don’t think I will.”

Sherlock was speechless - for a moment.

“John. I’m serious. Leave,” Sherlock said sternly.

“And I said: I. Don’t. Think. I. Will. The words seemed fairly straightforward to me,” John said in mock seriousness. “Honestly, Sherlock I thought that you were an intelligent fellow. Don’t make me change my opinion of you.”

They both stared at each other for a moment, saying nothing. Then Sherlock’s face broke into a small smile and John smiled back.

“Are you always this bossy?” Sherlock asked, still smiling.

“Can’t help it. Doctor. It’s just how we are. Come on, let me help you to bed,” John said, standing up and crossing to where Sherlock sat. John offered a hand to help him up.

“I can get up on my…” Sherlock began only to be interrupted by John grasping his hand and pulling him - too surprised to resist - to his feet.

“You’re heavier than you look,” John said, studying Sherlock for a minute. “But still too thin. We’ll work on that after I’ve moved in.” 

The minute that John had taken his hand, Sherlock had experienced an unusual feeling. It took him a few seconds to identify it; comfort. He felt comforted. 

Looking down at their still joined hands, Sherlock said, “Are you planning to drag me to bed, Doctor Watson?” Then blushed as he realized that the phrasing of the words could be taken as an invitation for sex. He felt faintly embarrassed.

John smiled up at him, his cheeks now a little rosy as well, but his only response was to tug Sherlock towards his bedroom.

Taking Sherlock by the shoulders, John turned him and pushed him into a seated position on the side of the bed. Then he bent down and began removing first Sherlock’s shoes, then socks. Glancing up, he looked at Sherlock and froze. 

Sherlock was leaning back on his elbows, biting his bottom lip. He was slightly disheveled, curly black hair looking as if he’d just gotten out of bed. ‘He looks like sex,’ was John’s first thought, the next was; ‘Oh god. I’m between his legs!’ He stood up quickly, too quickly as it turned out, and began to fall, his hands reflexively reaching out to catch himself, stopping just short of landing in Sherlock’s lap.

Hands braced on either side of Sherlock’s hips, he looked up to find himself staring into two of the most beautiful…what, Green? Blue? Aquamarine? Eyes he had ever seen. John licked his lips and had the sudden urge to close the small distance between them and kiss Sherlock Holmes firmly on the mouth. Instead, he quickly pushed himself up and off of Sherlock, both instantly regretting the loss of contact.

‘Well,’ John thought. ‘That’s a surprising checkmark on my mental list of things that turn me on.’ Sherlock was an Alpha. John was an Alpha and, if the suddenly erect cock in his trousers was anything to go by, a bi-sexual one. 

Contrary to the current fashion of condemning homosexuality, John didn’t find Alpha on Alpha sex to be outrageous or morally wrong. He’d been attracted to his own sex before but this was the first time he’d had the urge to rip an Alpha’s clothes off and fuck him where he found him. He needed to investigate this new feeling further, preferably at home, in his own bed, with a bottle of lube nearby.

“You’re right. I should go so you can get some rest,” John told Sherlock, feeling quite awkward, now wanting to be on his way as quickly as possible so that his could take care of his…problem.

Sherlock shook himself as if he’d been daydreaming. 

“Yes. Depending on your internal clock, it’s either very late or very early. I’ll see you out.” Sherlock pushed himself off of the bed with more energy than required but John still noticed the tent in Sherlock’s trousers that he was trying to hide. 

They both stood facing each other and simultaneously adjusted their trousers. John grinned at Sherlock who gave a shy smile in return. John thought he looked adorable and good enough to eat…

“Well, on that note, I guess I’ll see you on the first of the month.” John said, shifting from foot to foot trying to subtly unstick his now swollen balls from his thigh. ‘It’s starting to smell like sex in here,’ he thought.

As John turned to leave the room, Sherlock suddenly blurted out;

“We might run into each other at Bart’s. I’m often working in the morgue at all hours, examining evidence from whatever crime scene I’m working on at the moment.” Sherlock decided that now might not be the best time to mention the fact that he also studied other things like mold spores, tobacco ash, random body parts…and that he often took his work home with him. No. Even Sherlock had the occasional sense of self-preservation. 

“Oh? I’m on nightshift this week, 8pm until 2am. It’s a nice neighborhood and I live nearby so I usually walk to and from work.” Now why the hell had he offered that piece of useless information to Sherlock? He needed to get out of there before Sherlock realized what a colossal bore he was and rethought his choice of roommate. He shifted his feet again.

“I often walk to Bart’s as well. It’s a nice, quiet walk, very conducive to introspection.” Sherlock replied a bit too eagerly, he thought. Realizing the he was trying to delay John’s departure, he wondered how long he could keep up this inane patter when he noticed that John was rocking from one foot to the other, clearly anxious to leave.

In silent agreement, they began walking to the front door of the flat. Sherlock opened the door and felt an urge to ask John to stay. Giving himself a mental shake, he watched as John stepped out onto the landing. 

John had a thought that was trying to fight its way out of his mouth. Making the decision to say what he was thinking, he turned to face Sherlock and abruptly said;

“Maybe we’ll run into each other there sometime.” ‘Oh, god. Was that too eager?’ He thought. And when he added Sherlock’s knowledge that he’d recently enjoyed the services at the same brothel he was investigating for forced prostitution…’Yeah. Sounding desperate and dateless there, Captain Watson. I need to get out of here before I say something even more pathetic.’

Without waiting for an answer, John all but ran down the stairs, slamming the front door behind him as he left.

“That would be nice,” Sherlock said to the empty hallway.

The front door abruptly opened and John poked his head in and said;

“I’m sorry. I hadn’t meant to slam the door.”

“I know, John. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Sherlock,” John said, closing the door softly behind him.

Sherlock suddenly felt alone in the world but not because he was the only intelligent person on the planet…’besides Mycroft,’ he added begrudgingly. No. This was something new and he didn’t like it. 

Rubbing at his shoulder with one hand and closing the door with the other, he thought;

‘Being in love sucks.’ Then surprisingly following HIS doctor’s orders, he went to bed and dreamed of a man in uniform - who just coincidentally resembled John Watson - pulling him towards him until they were hip to hip, erect cocks pressing against each other - and began to kiss Sherlock brutally. When not-John began sucking on his neck, Sherlock’s eyes popped open and then he began blindly rummaging around for in the top drawer of his nightstand until he finally found what he was looking for. 

Eagerly pulling the bottle of lube from the drawer, almost dropping it in his haste, he lay it next to him on the bed, quickly pushed down his pants - ‘when did I take my clothes off?’ Just far enough to expose his almost painfully engorged cock. 

Picking up the bottle, he drizzled an over generous amount of lube onto his cock - Sherlock Holmes never did anything by halves - and shivered as the cold gel hit him. 

He dropped the bottle next to him and, taking himself in hand, imagined that it was John touching him and began giving his cock long, leisurely strokes. He wanted this to last.

***

Two blocks over, John lay naked in his bed, lubed cock in hand, imaging that it was Sherlock’s, and began giving himself long, leisurely strokes. He didn’t usually start this slowly but his mind had pictured Sherlock giving him a hand job this way and it felt right, so he went with it. It was surprisingly sexy.

John thought about those long, lovely pale hands squeezing his cock. He’d been hard for so long tonight that he knew he wouldn’t last much longer and, not only was he fine with that, he quickened his, no, Sherlock’s, pace, stroking faster now until he could feel his balls drawing up tightly against his body and… 

…Sherlock gave his cock several firm strokes, his body taught, and although he’d known that he was about to come, the intensity of his orgasm surprised him.

John /Sherlock, simultaneously relaxed their grips on their cocks, just holding them and enjoying the warmth of their hands as their heart rates slowed. And as they began to drift off to sleep, their last thought before sleep overtook them, was;

‘Being in love might not be so bad after all.’


	15. Sherlock Gets Schooled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's dangerous to walk alone in the city late at night. Even if you're Sherlock Holmes. No. Especially if you're Sherlock Holmes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been writing this story non-stop for the past 12 hours which means I'll be posting four chapters at once.
> 
> I'm pretty happy with it. Let me know what you think...gently. I bruise easily.

***

Sherlock had been trying to work up enough courage to ‘accidentally’ bump into John on his way to, or from, work but so far, he hadn’t been able to do it. Now, three days later, he’d determined to stop being this insecure person he normally wasn’t, and finally do something instead of just agonizing over it. 

Pulling his coat on with an unstudied flourish, he stepped out of his flat, ran down the 17 steps and opened the door that led to Baker Street and, hopefully, John Watson.

Taking a deep breath, he walked through the door shutting it behind him listening to the soft ‘snick’ as the lock engaged. He stood in front of the door, frozen, trying to force himself into taking that first step. He knew that once he started, he’d take the next step, and the next, until it finally lead him to John which was where he wanted to be most of all. 

He’d decided to wait until John’s shift was over before he set out. He estimated that by the time John had finished what he was working on and started on his way home, they’d meet in the middle and go the rest of the way to…somewhere, together. 

He hadn’t thought that far ahead. He was never without some sort of follow up plan and he should definitely be more concerned over that unusual behavior than he was. It must actually be love. 

Ten minutes later, he finally made a decision;

‘Time to take a chance, Holmes,’ he thought. He straightened his shoulders, stepped off the stoop and went to meet his fate. 

It was 2am.

***

Tommy had been lurking around Holmes’ flat for three days now. Day and night, he’d kept a lookout waiting for Sherlock to do…something…anything, but the man never left the brownstone and Tommy was bored. Not that he’d neglect his duties or complain to Chris. He wasn’t about to disappoint his big brother.

He was about to take a piss break against the nearest wall when he heard the front door to 221B open, then close. Looking up quickly to see who was leaving, he saw Sherlock Holmes standing on the steps in front of the house, just…what was he doing? Nothing. He was doing absolutely nothing. He stood stock still, just staring into the distance. 

Tommy shuddered. Sherlock Holmes still frightened him and although he was across the street, as far as Tommy was concerned, that was still too close. Taking his mobile from his pocket he texted his brother the good news;

…

H is leaving his flat. He doesn’t have anyone with him, he’s just, standing there. Looks like he’s trying to decide where to go or something.

T

...

Good work. I’ll let A know. You’ve done a terrific job but you’re done, for now at least. Wait until you’re 100% certain that Holmes can’t see or hear you and then get your arse home. ;)

C

…

Tommy smiled, slipped the mobile back into his pocket and resumed watching the still motionless Sherlock Holmes.

***

Chris entered the speed dial number that he’d assigned Adam and sent him a text.

…

SH going for a leisurely stroll. Currently located at home. You know what to do.

C

…

Understood.

A

…

Chris sat back in his chair, a huge smile on his face.

‘Enjoy your walk, Mister Holmes.’

***

Adam had chosen Andrew for this particular job. Although he was a bit of a loose canon, he was the best person to assist in roughing someone up. It was just part of the job to Adam. He didn’t get emotionally involved with his targets, he just went in, did what he had to do, and got out. No fuss, no muss. Andrew, on the other hand…

Andrew enjoyed his work. Loved it, in fact. He excelled in beatings meant to incapacitate but not kill a person, although his preference was to combine the two, he normally followed orders. He was particularly excited about this tonight’s target, though. Apparently, Holmes had said something insulting to Andrew when he’d entered the club that night. 

Adam had no idea what had been said and Andrew wouldn’t talk about it. He’d asked him once but had received a “none of your business” in reply, resulting in Andrew stalking off in a huff. That didn’t mean that Holmes had said anything particularly awful to Andrew. He could have mentioned that the cut of his coat was all wrong - that seemed like something the man would say - and Andrew would have been just as angry as if Holmes had called him a queer. 

That was the other problem with Andrew, one of many, actually. He had a hair trigger temper and was homophobic to the point where his co-workers assumed that he was in the closet, bashing homosexuals as a cover for his own homosexuality. 

It was so sterotypical. All that breast beating, yelling about ‘fags’, occasionally beating one to a pulp. Whenever that happened, Adam assumed that the brutality was due to finding himself attracted to the person. It made him angry and that never ended well for the object of his lust. He hadn’t killed anyone yet. Not that Adam was aware of, anyhow.

They’d been dropped off about a block from the target and would walk the rest of the way. When they were finished, they’d send a ‘mission accomplished’ text, then walk back to a different location and wait for pick up. It’d seem suspicious for two men to be dropped off and then picked up in the same place a short time later.

This was standard operating procedure and worked very well. No trying to find a parking space in London. No circling the block and looking suspicious. No rush back to the getaway vehicle, frantically trying to start the car before the police showed up. The car would be ready and waiting for them when they got there. It was all very civilized.

Adam heard mumbling coming from Andrew and he couldn’t quite make out what he was saying so he asked;

“What’s that, mate? You’re going to break another tooth, you keep clenching your jaw like that.”

“This fucking Sherlock Holmes. Thinks he’s so smart. Thinks he knows everything. Joke’s on him, though. We turned him into a fag that night. A goddamned fag,” Andrew laughed.

Adam was about to correct Andrew saying that rape was not an indication of sexuality but thought better of it, instead listening while Andrew kept spewing all manner of slurs and hate against homosexuals. 

The thing that puzzled Adam the most, though, was that several of B-Club’s employees were openly gay and no one cared. Why would they? Sex was their business, after all. It wouldn’t make a bit of difference to any of his co-workers if Andrew came out. It’d be a relief, actually. Not having to tiptoe around the subject all the time. And it was definitely Andrew’s favorite subject. 

He was a very repressed and angry man and Adam suddenly felt as if he might have made a mistake bringing Andrew to assist him on this one. Well, no matter. It was too late now. 

“Are you even listening to me?!” Andrew demanded, face red.

“Of course I am. It’s just that you’re not saying anything that I haven’t heard before so what am I supposed to say when I’ve said it all already?”

“That’s because you love those fags at work. You even take breaks with them sometimes.” Andrew paused and looked Adam up and down.

“Maybe that’s because you’re a fag too!” Andrew accused, spittle falling just short of hitting Adam in the face.

They’d been through this before. Adam was very confident in his sexuality and he refused to become defensive over something that he didn’t even care about.

“Andrew, I’m not gay. You know that. But neither am I a homophobe and you know that too. They’re just our co-workers. None of us are defined by our sexuality. Don’t let it bother you. You’re going to have a stroke one of these days.” 

“Well, if you want to hang out with fags, that’s your business. As for me? I’ll stick with my own kind.” Andrew hissed

Adam gave a mental sigh. 

“We’re close to our destination. No more talking. There’s no way that he wouldn’t hear us at this time of night. Ok?”

“Ok. Sorry, mate. I just hate fags and Holmes thinks that he’s better than everyone else and when you add the fact that he’s a fag too, it just gets my blood boiling.”

“He’s not necessarily a…you know what? Just drop it. No more talking. Got it?” Adam asked, giving Andrew a stern look. Adam was even tempered, and so people often forgot that he was more than able to kick their arse when the situation warranted it. Andrew took one look at Adam’s face and was immediately cowed. He nodded to Adam to show that he got the message and they continued the pursuit of their quarry in silence.

***

Sherlock, so wrapped up in his thoughts about seeing John, didn’t hear the two men rapidly closing the distance between them until they were already upon him. He was almost brought to his knees by a sudden punch to one of his kidneys, which was followed by a shove into a nearby alley. 

He landed on the ground gasping in pain as gravel was forced into his hands and knees from the impact. Looking up when his attackers moved to stand in front of him, he said;

“To what,” Sherlock asked, voice full of pain, “do I owe the honor of the beating I’m about to receive?” 

“You need to be taught a lesson, fag,” Andrew said maliciously.

“Ah. I remember you! You’re one of the bouncers from B-Club.”

“That’s right,” Andrew said proudly, puffing his chest up a bit as if he was a movie star who’d just been recognized.

“You’re the one I told to embrace your homosexu….oof,” Sherlock’s comment was interrupted by a sharp kick to his stomach.

Collapsing onto the ground completely, Sherlock curled up into a fetal position, his breath coming out in stuttering gasps.

“What’d I tell you?” Andrew demanded, ready to strike again.

“That you’d kick *cough*, my arse if I ever said anything like that to you again?” Sherlock moaned as the man ground the heal of his boot down on one of his hands that lay flat on the ground. He felt several bones snap, giving an involuntary gasp of pain as the blood rushed back into his hand when the foot was removed.

“What did you say?” Andrew crouched down so that Sherlock could see his face clearly.

“I said…oof,” Andrew picked Sherlock up by the hair and slammed his head onto the ground.

“I think that the force you used to give me a concussion was excessive,” Sherlock got out on a pained exhale.

Andrew moved to repeat the move, but was interrupted by Adam, who said;

“Come on. We’re not supposed to kill him. If you can’t control yourself, I’ll have to finish this without you and if that happens, I won’t be happy.” Although this was said quietly, Andrew immediately stopped what he’d been about to do, and stood up looking somewhat chagrined.

“Better. Better.” Adam nodded in approval then turned his attention to Sherlock.

“Mister Holmes, I was asked to deliver a message to you from the owner of B-Club. He wishes you to stop whatever you’re playing at by associating with John Watson and to stay away from the sexual slavery case. He want to remind you that he’d already made this quite clear during your visit to our establishment last week.”

“Association with Watson? What’s he got to do with any of this?”

“Don’t play dumb Mister Holmes. It doesn’t suit you,” Andrew replied calmly.

“No. I truly don’t…unnn,” Sherlock was interrupted by a sudden kick to his back. He felt at least one rib fracture with the possibility of a punctured lung from the other rib that he’d heard snap - that one had definitely been broken. He mentally began to catalog his injuries in his head;

‘Four moderately fractured metacarpal,” he flexed his hand and moaned in pain.

‘Four definitely broken metacarpal.’

‘Bruised kidney. Likely bleeding internally.’

‘Concussion with possible fracture of skull.’ Sherlock began to touch his head to check only to cry out in pain when his he felt his fibula snap under Andrew’s heavy boot.

He felt white hot pain followed immediately by blackness.

“Hey. Hey! Wakeup!” Sherlock opened his eyes when he’d been slapped in the face for, what must have been, if Andrew’s anger was anything to go by, the second or third time.

“Yes…” Sherlock could feel his vision going dark around the edges and embraced the blackness gratefully.

“Whoah, whoah, whoah. Don’t you go passing out again. Adam hasn’t finished warning you off,” Andrew said, giving him a violent shake.

Adam rolled his eyes heavenward then resumed delivering Chris’ message to Sherlock.

“The Boss knows that you’re aware of just exactly who John Watson is and the role he played in your rape.”

“Wasn’t…wasn’t his fault,” Sherlock gasped out.

“Be that as it may, you’re to quit your association with him immediately. Have you told him anything?” Adam demanded.

“No…no…wasn’t…planning on it,” Sherlock said, close to passing out again.

“I’m going to take your word for it. I doubt you’d lie about anything at this point,” Adam said.

“I *gasp* never lie,” Sherlock said quietly, his energy having flagged about…how long had he been lying here? He had no idea. His coat was damp…oh, it’s started raining. ‘That’s fitting,’ he thought randomly. 

“Good to know. Don’t bring John Watson into this. It’s between you and the Boss. It’d be awful should Watson be killed in an, oh, let’s say, random hit and run.” Sherlock stilled.

“That one got your attention, yeah? Good. Now, what have we learned here today?” Adam smiled benevolently down at Sherlock.

“Not to, not to work on the sex slave ring,” Sherlock got out.

“Very good. And?” Adam twirled his finger in a ‘what else?’ motion.

“Stop associating with John Watson,” Sherlock finished.

“See? I knew you were smart. Now,” and here Adam crouched down and gently tugged Sherlock’s ruined coat closed. “What do you think will happen if you do either one of those things?”

“You’ll…you’ll…killlll,” Then Sherlock, feeling as if he was falling into an abyss, was swallowed by darkness again, the pain mercifully taken with it. 

“Want me to wake him up again?” Andrew asked eagerly.

“I don’t know that you could, at this point,” Adam replied. 

“Just watch me,” Andrew said, taking this as a dare.

Adam stayed Andrew’s arm as he began to crouch down to slap Sherlock awake again.

“No, No. No. No. No. You’ve already put in him in hospital for well over the four days that the Boss originally requested. I don’t think that he’ll be angry but he’d definitely tell us that this was almost too far. Time to go.” Adam turned and began walking out of the alley.

“But I’m not finished with him yet!” Andrew whined.

“Fine, just don’t damage him much more than you already have,” Adam said, and kept walking. The job was done. Over done, frankly, and Adam didn’t feel good about it. Not at all. He knew that he shouldn’t have left Andrew to his own devices but there was so much blood, and, ironically, given his profession, he hated the smell of blood. It didn’t help that he felt guilty about how out of control things had gotten; he hated feeling like that. It was just a job and he hadn’t done anything other than deliver the message. He hadn’t hurt Holmes himself, although he wouldn’t have had a problem with it had he been directed to do so. This, though, was too much. ‘But you didn’t stop Andrew when you knew he’d gone too far,’ his subconscious told him. 

“Well it’s too late now.” He said aloud. Mentally washing his hands of the matter, he continued on his way to the rendezvous point, sending a text for the pick-up as he walked. 

He put his mobile back into his pocket and continued on his way in the direction of the new pickup: Saint Bart’s.


	16. What A Coincidence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Andrew is left alone with Sherlock. Nothing good can come of that.

***

Sherlock lay in a stupor on the ground, somewhere between conscious and unconscious. He knew that he was waking though up because the pain was becoming excruciating. He groaned.

“You’re awake! Good. This will be much more fun, for me anyhow,” Andrew said, a huge grin plastered across his face.

“When I fuck you up the arse like the fag you are, it’d be nice if you were awake enough to enjoy it,” Andrew said oblivious to the irony of what he’d just called Sherlock and what he planned to do TO Sherlock.

“Wasn’t that long ago that you had a huge dildo up your arse and then Watson’s cock which is good seeing as I don’t have any lube on me and I wouldn’t want to hurt myself trying to enter a dry hole,” Andrew laughed.

“I’d tell you to get on your knees but I’m pretty sure that, by now, you can no longer move comfortably. You’re welcome, by the way!” Andrew bent down and began fumbling with Sherlock’s belt buckle, undoing his trousers, and then pulled him into a not great, but good enough position with his knees tucked under him, hands and head on the ground in front of him. 

Sherlock almost passed out again from the pain of being moved and he desperately wished that he had so that he could avoid going through this again. This time he was going to be raped by someone intentionally. Someone who had planned this and wanted to hurt him further. Sherlock gave a choked sob.

“Don’t be such a pussy!” Andrew said, slapping Sherlock’s ass. “You’ll like it. You know you will.”

Sherlock felt his trousers and pants being pulled down, cold, damp air washed over his exposed bottom and he couldn’t find enough energy to care what happened to him anymore. 

He just wanted this to be over with. Wanted to die because he didn’t think that this rape would stay hidden in his Mind Palace. He could barely keep his experience at B-Club in check. 

This was…this was just too much and Sherlock sadly admitted to himself that he’d been broken. They’d finally won. So he lay there, limp, every part of his body throbbing in pain, just waiting to be used. Again.

Sherlock heard the man’s zipper being pulled down and braced himself for the inevitable when Andrew crouched down.

“Ow! Goddamn it! Boy, I’ll bet this gravel really hurt when you fell onto it, didn’t it? Here, give me your coat, I need something to cushion my knees. Wouldn’t want to hurt myself while I’m reaming you.”

Andrew leaned over and tugged Sherlock’s coat from his unprotesting body. Arms limp and unresisting.

He could feel the man forming his coat into some kind of barrier for his knees and then felt the back of Andrew’s thighs as he pressed his cock back and forth along Sherlock’s crack.

“God. This is going to be so good! You’ll be begging for more in no time!” Grabbing his cock, Andrew placed it against Sherlock’s entrance and began trying to push in only to meet resistance.

“Well, what do you know! You’re already tight again. Guess you’re a born again virgin. Wouldn’t want to be you right now, mate, and that’s a fact. Here we go again.” Andrew shifted his cock back into place, put his hands on Sherlock’s hips trying and failing to force Sherlock back onto his dick. He gave a frustrated huff and sat back on his heels.

“Looks like it’s the old fashioned way for you, mate. Not a fan of spitting myself but desperate times call for desperate measures.” As Andrew prepared to spit on his hole, tears ran down Sherlock’s face but he kept himself from sobbing this time. He refused to give him the satisfaction.

“Third time’s a charm!” Andrew said, then spat on Sherlock’s hole, working it around and in with an index finger, adding spit when necessary until he was satisfied that he would finally be able to force himself inside. Andrew felt a thrill of excitement and began pressing in again…


	17. John Heads Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John runs into someone on his walk home from Saint Bart's.

***

Once the patients had all gone, John still had a huge amount of paperwork to finish and was unable to leave until 3am. Feeling dejected and depressed thinking that with his luck, this would be the one time that Sherlock would walk up to meet him, he kept walking, head down and beating himself up over something of which he had no control. Didn’t matter.

He’d gone about a block and a half when he suddenly met a solid object that knocked the breath out of him.

Looking up, he saw that he’d run into a man, a very large man.

“I apologize. I was obviously not looking where I was going. I’m so sorry,” John said earnestly.

Adam looked at John impassively trying to think how he should handle this. He recognized John Watson immediately because, well, he’d certainly seen enough of him, how could he forget? He could tell that Watson hadn’t recognized him though, and no wonder what with all the drugs and alcohol he’d had in his system that night. He decided to let Watson live and moved to step around him saying; 

“No worries, mate. I wasn’t looking where I was going either.”

“Still, I feel terrible about this. I’m not usually this clumsy when walking.”

Adam turned his head, forced a smile and said; “It happens. I wouldn’t worry about it.” Then turned and began walking away again. He hoped that Andrew had finished whatever he was doing because Watson was just about within hearing distance of the alley. 

He wondered if he should distract Watson and move him in another direction, away from the alley, but then decided that Andrew was taking way too long and poor Holmes had had enough. Adam wasn’t unreasonable, after all.

He heard Watson call out to him so he stopped walking and turned to face him.

“Have a good night,” John said.

“You too,” Adam replied, ready to start walking again but instead, he paused and said;

“You be careful out here. The streets are dangerous at this time of night.”

“No worries. I can take care of myself,” John replied.

Adam look the short man over and thought, ‘I doubt it.’

“Well, good night again,” John repeated but this time, the man just ignored him and kept walking.

‘That was different,’ John thought. He hadn’t heard of any problems in the neighborhood but he reached back to make sure that his Baretta was where it belonged just the same. Giving it a pat and smiling to himself, John continued on his way.

***

“God fucking dammit! Why won’t you go in!” Andrew was yelling at his cock now. Sherlock remained silent. He could have told the man that his penis was too limp to penetrate Sherlock’s anus but decided that he didn’t need to aid and abet his own rape and kept that thought to himself.

Andrew kept pushing and his semi-hard cock kept bending. He was getting frustrated and angry.

“This is YOUR fault!” Andrew said, and punched Sherlock in his other kidney causing Sherlock to cry out in agony.

“Oi! What are you doing?!” A voice called from the mouth of the alley.

“Mind your own business, he’s willing,” Andrew snarled without looking back up.

“He doesn’t look willing to me,” John said, pulling his gun out but keeping it down by his side, out of sight. He began to slowly approach the two men. He couldn’t see the one on the ground but his position was unnatural; there was no way that this man had consented to this.

As John got closer, he began to notice more details. The spreading pool of blood that appeared to be pouring from the man’s head. Head wounds bled a lot, though so John couldn’t tell without examining the man whether or not it was serious. 

He was finally close enough to see the other man, the ‘rapist,’ John mentally corrected, trying to force his way into the man who had definitely not volunteered to be concussed then fucked in a dark alley. John lift his gun.

“Stop what you’re doing right now or I’ll blow your fucking head off,” John said dispassionately. Captain John Watson had automatically taken control of the situation. The rapist wouldn’t be walking out of this alley any time soon.

“Ooh! Big man has a gun. What are you going to do? Shoot me in cold blood?” Andrew laughed. 

“All signs point to yes,” John replied, eerily calm, gun held steady.

“This is ridiculous, things got a little out of hand and you’re going to shoot me over it?” Andrew gave a forced laugh. He had been searching the ground with the hand that the man couldn’t see, the minute he’d seen him. 

Wait? Watson?! Fucking John Watson? Of all the dumb luck!

“Look, Doctor Watson, I don’t think that you want to shoot anyone in this narrow alley. What if you missed and a bullet ricocheted off the wall and hit your buddy here? That’d be a shame now, wouldn’t it? I mean, that’d just be adding insult to injury? Considering that you’ve already raped him and all,” Andrew said.

“What did you just say?” John asked tonelessly.

“Oh yeah. You were at B-Club last week. Remember that virgin Beta that was so conveniently panting for it? We cleaned him inside and out to get the Alpha scent off of him and you were none the wiser. Bought the whole bullshit story we gave you with barely any hesitation.” 

Andrew pulled Sherlock’s head up by the hair causing him to cry out. 

“Look at him. Don’t you recognize your victim?” Now feeling that he had the upper hand, Andrew smirked.

“Shhh…Sherlock? Is that you? Is this true?” John stepped forward, simultaneously dropping his gun by his side again. 

“John…” 

“Oh my god! What have I done?!”

“Put a man in therapy for the rest of his life, would be my first guess. I could be wrong…but I doubt it.” Andrew said, smiling.

Andrew finally found a rock and threw it as hard as he could, hitting John in the shoulder. Crying out, John instinctively grabbed his shoulder, dropping the gun.

Andrew zipped his up trousers and got to his feet. Time to teach this little arsehole a lesson. 

John looked for his gun only to see that it had landed just out of reach. He relaxed his shoulders, and moved his head from side to side until his neck cracked. Bracing one foot behind him, he waited for the man to come at him.

Andrew hit John like a freight train, pushing John back a few feet but not knocking him over. He’d expected John to fall and so hadn’t planned a next move, he just stood there, frozen.

John reared back and kicked Andrew’s kneecap with all of his might. There was a sudden popping noise followed immediately by Andrew crying out. He didn’t go down, instead opting to punch John in the face which was exactly what John had been waiting for. He grabbed Andrew’s fist in one hand, made a fist his other and then punched his arm right at the elbow joint. There was a sickening crack and John smiled in satisfaction.

“Ok. Ok. I give up! You win!” Andrew pleaded.

“No. I haven’t won yet. I just wanted to hurt you first before I killed you.”

“You can’t kill me! You’re a doctor!” Andrew exclaimed, barely holding himself up. He knew that if landed on the ground, he was done for.

“But I was also a soldier and sometimes, well, sometimes the patient doesn’t make it,” John said, then he balled up his fist and slammed it dead center into Andrew’s face, enjoying the cracking sound of bones being broken and splintering into the man’s brain. Andrew was dead before he hit the floor.

John shook off his Captain John persona and became Doctor Watson again. He rushed forward, crouching down next to Sherlock’s and gently smoothed his curls from the head wound. Gently palpating Sherlock’s skull, he found a small fracture but he wouldn’t know how bad it was until they did an MRI.

His hand moved to Sherlock’s cheek and softly stroked it whispering, “I’m so sorry. God, I’m so sorry!” He used his other hand to call Emergency Services. As soon as someone picked up, he listed his title, ID number, location and described the only injuries he could tell for certain. 

“Skull fracture. Concussion. His right hand is at a strange angle and looks to be broken. Other injuries can’t be determined on site.”

“Punctured lung,” Sherlock rasped without opening his eyes. 

“A punctured lung. Look just get an ambulance here, we’re only a block away from hospital in the Church Street alley. 

“Contact the police and tell them to get their arse’s out here to investigate.”

“Lestrade,” John heard Sherlock whisper.

“Ask specifically for someone by the name of Lestrade and tell him that it’s involving Sherlock Holmes and it’s an emergency.” John could here the ambulance already pulling up, blocking the mouth of the alley.

Two paramedics ran in, carrying a stretcher between them. A third came in carrying a med kit and tried to do as much triage as possible before they moved Sherlock. 

One paramedic went to check the pulse of the body lying on the ground. Then checked again at the carotid artery in his neck. He looked at John.

“He’s dead. There’s someone over here who’s actually worth saving.”

John repeated what little he knew about Sherlock’s injuries then watched them work. An IV was set up in no time and after determining that Sherlock could be moved as long as he was immobilized, they set about arranging him on the stretcher, gently easing his head and neck into a neck brace, and finished by strapping him to the stretcher.

One carried the IV, the other two carrying Sherlock on the stretcher, they put him in the ambulance, again ensuring that the restraints were secure. 

John began to step into the back with Sherlock and an emergency worker told him that he could meet them at the hospital. 

Ignoring everyone’s instructions to leave, John got into the back of the ambulance and sat down, then he showed them his ID lanyard that still hung about his neck. “I’m a doctor at Saint Bart’s and this man’s my patient. I’m going.”


	18. So, We Meet Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock has an unexpected visitor. Mycroft is NOT impressed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're finally coming to the end, people! YAY!!!

***

John paced back and forth in front of the room where Sherlock lay, half asleep. He’d refused pain medication when they’d brought him in without giving a reason, saying only;

“I need my brother. He’ll know what to do.” 

John had no idea how to get in touch with his brother. And now that he finally had time, he began to go over what the dead man had told him. Had it really been Sherlock? Had he really raped him? He didn’t think that he could live with himself if he had done that.

He stopped pacing when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He followed the hand up to see Detective Inspector Lestrade looking tense and worried.

“How is he?” Lestrade asked anxiously.

“We’re still waiting for the doctor to get here but we haven’t been here that long and he’s had nurses working on stabilizing him since he was brought in. He’s been drifting in and out of consciousness and he’s in a lot of pain but refuses pain medication to control it. He just asked for his brother and that was the last thing that he said before passing out again.”

Lestrade reached into a pocket and grabbed his mobile, pressed the number one, then hit send.

’This person was on speed dial?’ John thought.

“Hi. Yeah. Me too.” The last was said very softly, almost intimately. ‘Girlfriend,’ John thought. 

“A Doctor Watson was walking home from Bart’s at the end of his shift and found Sherlock in an alley, a man trying to rape him.” 

*muffled reply* 

“No. No, Mycroft.” 

*muffled reply* 

“Because he’s already dead, that’s why.” 

*muffled reply* 

“I believe that Doctor Watson facilitated the man’s death,” Lestrade looked at John who nodded in agreement.

“Yes. It was Doctor Watson. No, I don’t know what he’s a doctor of other than medicine.”

*muffled reply*

“Because I knew that would be your next question so I decided to cut through the middle man and answer it before you asked.”

*muffled reply*

“Oh. Wow! That was fast. Ok.” Lestrade ended the call and placed his mobile back into his pocket.

“That was Sherlock’s brother, Mycroft. They’re, uh…close but not that close. They have quite a bit of sibling rivalry going on but when one needs help, the other will move heaven and earth to help the other. Mycroft is usually the one taking care of Sherlock though.”

“Yes. I am. Doctor Watson, I presume?”

“Yes.” John held out his hand which was ignored and John dropped it awkwardly to his side.

“How do you know Sherlock?” It came out as a demand, not a question.

“A fellow doctor told me that Sherlock was looking for a flat share and thought that we might get on well together. He introduced us earlier in the week. That night, Sherlock asked that I accompany him on a case so that I could give my medical opinion on the victim,” John paused.

Mycroft raised one perfectly groomed eyebrow then looked at Lestrade, who nodded in the affirmative. Mycroft was about to pepper John with questions when they heard the determined sound of shoes tapping rapidly on the floor.

A small woman in a white lab coat, with dark brown hair pulled away from her face, was heading their way. She had chocolate brown eyes which actually seemed to sparkle.

She immediately turned to John and held her hand out which John shook.

“You must be Doctor Watson, Sherlock’s significant other. I’m Doctor Grant. I’ve only just started at Bart’s but my credentials are excellent.” She turned and gave Mycroft an unfathomable look, saying, “You can check on that if you’d like, as I’m sure you will, Mister Holmes,” startling both Mycroft and Lestrade by already knowing his name. 

John immediately liked her and sensed that she was competent. He’d still check out her credentials, though. He figured that Mycroft would check them out too but, if his attitude was anything to go by, he wouldn’t be sharing anything that he found out, with John.

“I’m not…I’m not Sherlock’s significant other. We’re flatmates,” John finished lamely. He looked over and found both Mycroft and Lestrade studying him and knew that they were wondering how the hell John could be Sherlock’s flatmate when he’d known him for less than a week.

Mycroft insinuated himself between Doctor Grant and Doctor Watson, saying;

“I’m Sherlock’s brother and you are to direct any and all questions concerning Sherlock, to me.” This last was directed at John and he felt dismissed.

“Well, Mister Holmes. When was Sherlock brought in?” Doctor Grant asked him, waiting for an answer as if knowing that he couldn’t give one.

“I, um. I believe that Doctor Watson can answer that.”

Doctor Grant turned back to John and repeated the question.

“Fifteen minutes ago,” John replied, unsure of how to proceed.

Doctor Grant turned back to Mycroft, looked him dead in the eye and asked;

“Has anyone informed you of his injuries yet? I assume that triage has been with him.”

“Shouldn’t you be reading his paperwork to find all of this out instead of counting on us to relay it to you?” Mycroft said, irritation clearly apparent.

“Actually, I have his chart right here,” she patted the metal clipboard that was held against her chest.

“However,” she continued, “my understanding was that someone discovered Sherlock in the act of being brutalized so I’m trying to get some background before I go in. I assume that since you’ve said that you’re his main point of contact, you must have been the one to find him, so, as requested, I’m addressing my questions to you.”

Mycroft, looking distinctly uncomfortable, coughed and nodded his head in John’s direction.

“Doctor Watson found him,” Mycroft said begrudgingly.

“Doctor Watson, would you join me in the examination room? I understand that Sherlock has been through a lot and might be comforted by your presence.”

“I should be the one who…” Mycroft began. Doctor Grant turned and gave him an icy look.

“I do apologize. I wasn’t aware that you were a physician. What field do you specialize in?” She asked, giving Mycroft a knowing smile.

“Ahem. I’m not a doctor. I hold a minor position in the British government.” Mycroft said, sounding defensive.

“Oh. So you can add absolutely nothing to the situation then, can you? You’ll just have to wait out here until I say that you can see him, won’t you?” Doctor Grant smiled at Mycroft and John could see the anger rising in his face.

“I don’t know what you’re about…” Mycroft began.

“Yes, that much is obvious. Doctor Watson, shall we?” She gestured for John to precede her into the room and shut the glass door behind them effectively cutting off all sound escaping from the room.

“I don’t trust her,” Mycroft said with a huff.

“Why not? You’ve only just met her and you already distrust her?” Lestrade said with a laugh. “Admit it, Myc. You don’t trust anyone.”

“I trust you and I’ve already asked you before not to call me that in public,” Mycroft said but Lestrade could tell that he secretly enjoyed it.

“No one’s around right now, Myc. In fact, I could kiss you in the middle of this ward and no one would know a thing about it,” Lestrade said, wiggling his eyebrows at Mycroft.

This time, Mycroft’s face was a lovely pink but not from anger.

“Not now, Greg. Wait until we get home,” Mycroft said under his breath.

“You promise,” Lestrade teased.

Looking around and finding no one in the general vicinity, Mycroft reached over and felt the soft texture of Lestrade’s jacket between his finger and thumb.

“You can be sure of it.” Then each gave each a secret smile, one that’s often shared between lovers in a clandestine relationship.

Mycroft stepped back, suddenly all business again.

“What’s taking so long?” Mycroft asked impatiently.

“It’s been 15 minutes. Calm down, Myc.”

Mycroft narrowed his eyes at Lestrade but said nothing.

“Come on. Let’s sit over here. All we can do now is wait.”

Mycroft begrudgingly followed Greg to the chairs in the waiting room and they sat, heads together, looking very much like the couple they were pretending not to be.

***

Sherlock lay in the hospital bed in agony. He desperately wanted morphine but didn’t want to take a chance that he’d enjoy the feeling so much, he’d start using again when he got out. However, he was seriously reconsidering that vow at the moment.

It seemed like hours since he’d been brought in and other than a flurry of annoying nurses poking and prodding at him, he’d yet to see Doctor Watson again. He needed to explain what had happened. He was afraid that John might be scared away if they didn’t talk about what the man had revealed, as soon as possible, and now that Sherlock had found him, he didn’t want to lose him.

The door opened and Sherlock looked up to see John enter the room and gave a sigh of relief. Someone else was following him in, the official doctor, he presumed. More poking and prodding. Couldn’t they just let his own doctor take care of him? He closed his eyes and waited for what would come next.

***

Doctor Grant opened a drawer and picked up a disposable hypodermic, then walked over to the drug dispensary and typed in her code requesting Lorazepam. A drawer slid open and she removed the bottle, inserted the tip of the syringe and pulled back a large dose.

“That’s a bit too much, don’t you think, Doctor Grant?” John asked.

“Not for a former drug addict,” she said, injecting the medication directly into Sherlock’s IV.

She reached over and gently ran the back of her fingers along Sherlock’s cheek. John was almost embarrassed by the intimacy of the gesture and looked away. ‘Maybe they know each other,’ he thought.

“Sherlock. Sherlock? Sherlock, talk to me. I need to know how you’re feeling. Is the medication working?”

“Yesh,” Sherlock slurred.

Doctor Grant patted his arm and stood up.

“Sherlock, I’m about to perform a rape kit on you. Would you like Doctor Watson to leave?” 

“Wuzzn’t raped,” Sherlock managed to get out.

“Well, now. You aren’t exactly in the best condition to know that for sure now, are you?” Doctor Grant said soothingly.

“No. Wuzzn’t. Wuzzn’t raped. John, tell her. No rape kit.”

John looked at Doctor Grant, then back at Sherlock whose eyes had remained closed.

“Sherlock, I don’t know that for sure. I couldn’t tell if he had just finished or was just starting. I’m sorry. I agree with Doctor Grant. A rape kit should be done. Would you like me to leave while Doctor Grant administers it?” 

“Yesh. Leave. Need talk you later. Alone.” Sherlock said, eyes still closed.

“Ok,” John said, inwardly cringing. Should he just turn himself in? He didn’t know what to do. He’d never been guilty of a crime before, especially not one he’d hadn’t even known he was committing.

Head hung low, John went to the door, grabbed the handle then looked back at Sherlock. He could never make something like this better. Sherlock would never forgive him. Hell, he’d never forgive himself. 

He began to swing to door open when he heard Sherlock’s voice, barely above a whisper, call out his name.

“Sherlock? What can I do?” The double meaning clear in his voice.

“Don’t worry. S’gonna be k. K?” 

John smiled. “If you say so.”

“I do. Come back when Doctor Grant has left.”

“I’ll be waiting right outside the door,” John promised and then left the room.

***

Doctor Grant quickly readied a larger dose of Lorazepam, injected it into Sherlock’s IV then threw the needle away in the sharps box on the wall.

She stood by Sherlock’s head, running her fingers through his hair, careful to avoid the fracture in his skull.

“I’m going to give you a rectal examination but no rape kit unless you say you want one. I’m pretty sure that Doctor Watson has already taken care of the rapist.”

Sherlock nodded slowly in agreement, his chin eventually resting on his chest.

“My poor love. What have they done to you?”

“You gave me more Lorazepam?” Sherlock asked sleepily.

“You were becoming coherent already, darling. You need your rest! You’ve built up quite a resistance to drugs over the years, haven’t you.” This last was said as more of a statement than a question.

Sherlock felt like he was floating. He knew that he was still in pain but it seemed far away and he felt exhausted just from the relief of having it lessened.

Doctor Grant, still running her fingers through his curls, said;

“I won’t let them get away with what they’ve done to you. It’s unacceptable. Treating one of my patients like this. Don’t you worry. They’ll never know what hit them,” Doctor Grant removed her fingers from his hair and grasped Sherlock’s cold hand. Laying his hand gently back on the bed, she the call button on the wall and in an abrupt tone of voice said; 

“Bring three heated blankets to Mister Holmes’ room. STAT. It’s horrendous to leave a patient freezing like this, much less one who is in shock. Also, call an order down and have them send someone up with a portable X-ray machine to take pictures of Mister Holmes’ injuries. I won’t have him moved unnecessarily.” She released the button and patted Sherlock’s arm.

“I won’t let them hurt you again. I promise. Can you open your eyes and look at me? Just for a minute, lamb?”

Sherlock opened his eyes with difficulty, and looked up a the smiling face of Doctor Grant.

“There he is! Hello, Sherlock!

“Hello, Becca.”

***


	19. Who The Hell Are You?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft asserts his right to be in charge of Sherlock's care. Doctor Grant feels otherwise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that, although I play one on AO3, I am NOT a doctor in real life. I'm just making up the medical stuff as I go. In other words; I wouldn't use anything you've read here as gospel. You want the patient to survive, don't you?!
> 
> Debbie

***

Mycroft was waiting for John to reappear and went on the attack the instant the door had closed behind him.

“Who the hell are you?” Mycroft hissed, voice lowered to avoid attracting attention. Although there were no other people in the area at the moment, he knew from experience that that didn’t mean that no one was listening.

“Who am I?” John repeated.

“Doctor Watson. If you’re asking me who you are, I’m afraid that I can’t help you. Answer the question. Please.” This last was said sarcastically, it’s meaning clearly the opposite.

John ignored him and continued to walk away.

“Doctor Watson! I’m afraid that I must insist that you answer the question right now,” Mycroft said to John’s retreating back.

“Just give him a minute, Myc. He’s obviously upset.” Lestrade said, putting a hand on Mycroft’s arm which he immediately shook off. When Mycroft’s only reply was to continue his pursuit of Doctor Watson, Lestrade sighed and followed, ready to be the voice of reason, as usual.

“Doctor Watson! Stop right this instant or you won’t enjoy the consequences.” 

John reached the waiting room, took a seat, and waited for the pompous Mister Holmes to come to him.

“Well?”

“Well what?” John said, feeling exhausted all at once.

“Who are you and what is your relationship with Sherlock?”

“My relationship with Sherlock?” 

“Doctor Watson. If you insist on repeating every question I ask, this will take a lot longer than either of us would like.” Mycroft said, exasperated.

“I don’t understand what you’re asking. I’ve already told you that we’re flatmates.”

“Do you expect me to believe that you met Sherlock less than a week ago and have already moved in with him?” 

“Yes, I met Sherlock less than a week ago, and, no, I have not moved in with him. The plan was that I move in at the end of the month when my current lease was up.” John said, sounding dejected which Mycroft immediately seized upon.

“‘Was?’ Doctor Watson. I’m confused…” Mycroft began.

“That makes two of us,” John said tiredly.

“You said that the plan ‘was’ to move in. Has that plan changed? And, if so, when and why?”

John pushed himself up to a standing position and glared at Mycroft. He wasn’t about to let this man think that he was intimidated by him.

“Yes. I’m unsure of the current status of that situation.”

“’Situation?’ There’s a ‘situation?’ And what, pray tell, would that situation be?”

“Look, Mycroft…”

“Mister Holmes to you.”

“Look, Mycroft,” John said, looking the man in the eye, daring him to correct him again.

“Your brother has been through a lot. I’m not sure that he even wants a flatmate at the moment.”

“Yes. Sherlock has indeed been through a lot but what I fail to understand is how that would affect your moving into the flat. It’s not as if you were personally involved in the attack.” When the doctor quickly glanced away, Mycroft’s suspicions increased dramatically.

“WERE you involved in the attack?” Mycroft demanded.

John met Mycroft’s eyes and exclaimed, “This attack?! Absolutely not!” 

“You hesitated before answering, Doctor Watson. And why, exactly, would that be?” Mycroft said in a calm tone of voice which was somehow more intimidating than anything else he’d said or done previously.

“I was…” John started but Mycroft interrupted him immediately, an interrogation technique meant to keep him off balance and more likely to answer truthfully.

“And what exactly did you mean when you said “this attack?” Tell me, Doctor Watson. Have you attacked Sherlock before?”

“What? No. Of course not,” John protested, but even to his own ears, it had sounded like a lie. 

He’d hesitated before answering because he’d been asking himself the same question. ‘Had he attacked Sherlock?’ He hadn’t seen the Beta’s face and the man hadn’t smelled of anything other than an Omega in heat, and yet… 

So, although John had begun to believe that he was guilty of unknowingly participating in Sherlock’s abuse, it was something that he needed to discuss with Sherlock. He’d already sensed that Sherlock was a very private person and wouldn’t appreciate his personal business being discussed with anyone, much less his brother. 

John felt a deep need to protect Sherlock, which was especially ironic, given the circumstances. Not that John wouldn’t have reacted in the same manner had anyone tried to get a patients personal information without their permission, but when it came to Sherlock - this person he hadn’t even known a week ago - the feeling was more…intense somehow, and he knew that he wouldn’t hesitate to kill to keep him safe. Sherlock’s attacker could attest to that. If he hadn’t already been dead. 

Which was another thing. Why hadn’t John waited for the police to come. He could have immobilized the man somehow and yet that thought hadn’t occurred to him. Not really. As soon as he’d seen that man attacking Sherlock all he’d felt was a white hot rage followed immediately by the thought that no one attacked his mate and lived.

Wait. What was that? The word ‘mate’ had popped into his head automatically and what was even stranger was how right it had felt. He shook his head as if to clear it and realized that he’d drifted off when he heard Mycroft commanding that he ‘pay attention.’ 

“Look. The person you need to speak with is Sherlock. I don’t know what else to tell you.”

“Very well, Doctor. Then humor me and answer one more question,” Mycroft said.

“I will if I can.”

“Why did that doctor think that you were Sherlock’s ‘significant other?’”

***

While John and Mycroft had been arguing, Sherlock’s room had been a hive of activity. Medical personnel had come and gone. X-rays had been taken and examined, and decisions been made as to the next step in Sherlock’s care. 

The room had finally been emptied, and Doctor Grant was once again, the only other person in the room with Sherlock. 

She held Sherlock’s good hand, running her thumb gently along the back of his knuckles and whispered soothing words to her patient.

“Shh…shh…it’ll be alright,” she said when Sherlock moaned. “I’ll make sure of it. You trust me, don’t you? 

“Yes,” Sherlock said, the pain picked that moment to blaze to life, leaving him gasping in agony. 

“I know that your meds have started to wear off again but the anesthesiologist will be here soon and she will give you something that will make you feel nice and sleepy. Then it’s off to surgery so that we can repair the damage that that bad man caused. I know that it won’t do anything for the emotional trauma you’ve suffered but once we’ve gotten your pain under control, things won’t seem quite as hopeless. Promise,” she said, patting is arm. 

“Your brother is demanding to see you,” she said casually, already knowing that Sherlock wouldn’t like it.

“Don’t worry,” she assured Sherlock when he began to weakly protest.

“I won’t let him stay long. The anesthesiologist will kick him out the minute she gets here anyhow.”

“John…”

“I know that you want to see John but your brother will only make a scene if he’s not allowed in here next. The minute Mycroft’s been dismissed, I promise to send your mate to you.”

Doctor Grant saw Sherlock’s eyes widen in distress and said;

“You didn’t think that I noticed the bite on your shoulder as I was cleaning you up Friday night? You didn’t think that I could tell that the wound was fresh and that it was Doctor Watson who’d bitten you? Sherlock, give me a little credit, I’m not blind, you know.”

Sherlock squeezed his eyes shut, a tear leaking out and slowly making its way down his cheek.

“Shh…Didn’t I promised you that everything would be fine. It’s the pain and the meds making you so weepy. Don’t cry,” she said sadly, wiping the tear from his cheek with her thumb. 

“He doesn’t…doesn’t know…doesn’t…remember,” the words sounding harsh as he said them.

“His body knows, though. It’s obvious to anyone who’d care to look. One major sign being the fact that he murdered your attacker without forethought and with brutal precision. You’re lucky! That’s quite a passionate man you have there,” Becca said, smiling down at him. Suddenly growing serious, she said;

“You have to tell him, sweetheart. You know that, don’t you?”

Sherlock didn’t answer. He’d used up all his strength with his last statement. Still, he made a valiant effort to shake his head to let her know that he wouldn’t be doing that.

“It’s not good for you, you know. You have to complete the bonding.”

At Sherlock’s startled look, she gave a laugh and said;

“Sherlock. I’m going to become seriously insulted if you keep doubting me like this. When exactly would you have bitten him back? You were bound to a breeding stand, wearing a hood. I know for a fact that he never saw your face, not to mention the gag in your mouth. So, tell me; when exactly was this bite supposed to have taken place? After you met him in real life? He had no idea who you were. He’d never seen your face and he certainly had no idea that you were an Alpha so, what did you do? Say, ‘Hi. You don’t know me but when you were raping me last week, you asked permission to bite me and I readily agreed. You’re my other half and my health is about to go into a rapid decline should we not complete the bonding?’ Any of that sound familiar? No? I thought not.”

Sherlock’s face was set in determination. He would not force John into an unwanted bond just so Sherlock could feel better. It had to be John’s decision. 

“You know you’re being silly, don’t you?”

Sherlock frowned.

“You tell him or I will. You need as much energy as possible to allow yourself to recover from these injuries, including the emotional ones. Closing the bond will allow the healing to occur much faster. You know that.”

The effect of Sherlock’s stern glare was ruined when another wave of pain hit and he grimaced.

“Very intimidating! I’ll go get your brother,” Becca said, giving his arm another pat, then turning to leave. At a grunt from Sherlock, she turned around to see him still trying to give her his best glare and failing miserably.

“Don’t bother. I’m still getting him. The sooner you get it over with, the sooner you’ll see John.”

***

“I’ve no idea,” John said sincerely.

“You’ve no idea why a doctor, whom you say you’ve never met before, would immediately assume that you and Sherlock were in an intimate relationship? Come now, Doctor. I find that hard to believe.”

“I don’t care what you believe, it’s the truth.”

Catching a movement from the corner of his eye, he turned to see that the doctor was approaching their group.

“Doctor Grant, how is Sherlock?” John asked anxiously. 

Mycroft, who’d had all of his attention focused on Doctor Watson, had failed to hear Doctor Grant walking up on them, and been caught unaware. Turning to face the doctor, Mycroft took over the questioning, and arrogantly demanded;

“What is the the status of my brother.”

Doctor Grant, who had originally stopped in front of John, turned and gave Mycroft a cool, assessing look.

“Mister Holmes. Your interrogation methods might work on poor Doctor Watson here, which I seriously doubt, but they most certainly won’t work on me,” she matter of factly.

“Doctor Grant, I don’t think you realize to whom you’re speaking!” Mycroft said pompously.

“Of course I do. You’re a ‘minor employee of the British government.’ Did I get that right?” Becca asked sweetly.

“Well, yes. That’s correct, but…” Mycroft began, flushing to the roots of his hair.

“In that case your, shall we say, specialty, isn’t needed at the moment. This isn’t about you. This is about your brother. Don’t you have some dignitary requiring assassination?” She asked, smiling.

“How do you…” Mycroft demanded, stepping forward.

Without a word, Lestrade, who had remained quiet throughout the entirety of Mycroft’s raging, softly lay a hand on his arm which seemed to cool his anger all at once.

“There, isn’t that better?” Becca asked. “Your future mate is wise,” she said with a glance towards Lestrade who blanched.

“How do you…” Lestrade began.

“I know a lot of things, Greg. Now, if we could get back to the most important thing, please; Sherlock’s course of treatment. We’ve already wasted five minutes on this and there’s not much time before Sherlock will be taken to surgery.”

“Surgery? I believe that, as Sherlock’s brother, this should have been discussed with me before any decisions were made.”

“Well, I’ll give you that one, Mister Holmes. You do seem to be Sherlock’s brother.” Becca said condescendingly. 

Mycroft knew that she was speaking down to him but she was right about one thing, Sherlock was his priority. He’d set aside his personal feelings for the moment and afterwards, he’d look into her connections and find out where she was getting her information. Once he’d found her source, heads would roll, but for now, he focused all of his attention on Doctor Grant.

Becca gave each man a searching look, then began to list Sherlock’s health issues.

“Sherlock has a small skull fracture that can be left to heal on its own. Luckily, his lung wasn’t punctured, however, it was badly bruised which, between that and his fractured ribs, is the cause of his difficulty breathing. We’re keeping him in an upright position so that his lungs don’t have to work as hard. I don’t need to tell you, Doctor Watson, how easily this can turn into pneumonia if we can’t get Sherlock to take deep breaths.

Some good news; The fibula was a clean break which will be set in the operating room prior to surgery as soon as Sherlock has been anesthetized. He’s already in a lot of pain and there’s no reason to cause more if we can help it.

His hand though, has been badly damaged and will require pins to keep the bones in place to allow it to heal properly. He has a long road ahead of him but with physical therapy, he’ll most likely be able to play the violin again. 

And, on that note. A word of warning; pay careful attention to his mood. He loves playing the violin. He uses it to help him think as well as relax. He’ll find his inability to play, no matter how temporary, to be one of the most difficult things to deal with emotionally. To be blunt; stay alert for any signs of suicidal thoughts or actions. This is the one time that Sherlock shouldn’t be left alone with his mind and allowed to dwell on what he can’t do.” 

When Becca had mentioned Sherlock’s violin playing, no one had even batted an eye. She seemed to know everything about them somehow, but there would be time to investigate her as soon as Sherlock had been settled.

“Mister Holmes, you may see your brother until the anesthesiologist arrives at which point you’ll have to leave. Sherlock requested that he see his mate but I was able to convince him to see you first.” 

She smiled as Mycroft bristled at this, taking note of the fact that he hadn’t corrected her calling John, Sherlock’s mate. Good. He needed to get used to the idea, the sooner the better. Sherlock didn’t need anymore stress in his life right now and Becca was going to do everything in her power to make sure that he wasn’t injured any further. That included keeping Sherlock’s mate nearby for support, and Mycroft Holmes, on general principle, away. 

Becca wasn’t about to let that man unravel all the progress she’d made trying to nudge both Sherlock and John in the right direction. If Sherlock had any hope of healing, they had to close the loop and complete the bond as soon as possible. She wouldn’t allow Mycroft to stand in the way of that. 

“Doctor Watson will sit with him while the anesthesiologist goes over what type of medications will be used to put him under. He can help should any changes need to be made,” she finished and looked at Mycroft, awaiting the explosion that was obviously imminent.

‘Doctor Grant…,” Mycroft began angrily.

“Please. Call me Becca and I’ll call you Mycroft. I think that we should all be on a first name basis now, don’t you? John? Greg?” It was a command couched as a suggestion. All four knew it and, just as knowingly, chose to overlook it.

“Doctor Grant…,”

“Mycroft! Becca. Please.”

“Very well. Becca,” he ground out, clearly irritated by this woman who seemed to think that she was above him in the pecking order. He’d personally see to it that that was corrected immediately. She’d begin treating him with the respect due his position or she’d find herself unemployed.

“I don’t know why you insist on directing all of the decision making to Doctor…,” he paused when he saw the woman give him an expectant look.

“Fine. I don’t know why you think that…John, is in charge of making decisions about Sherlock’s well being,” Mycroft said, his patience clearly at an end.

“As you seem to have forgotten, let me now remind you. I am Sherlock’s nearest relative, and, as such, you will address all things concerning his treatment, with me. Have I made myself clear?” 

Becca gave John a searching glance before turning back to Mycroft. “Well, that’d be a decision for Sherlock and John to make, now, wouldn’t it?” Becca moved her gaze to John and asked, “Is that alright with you, John?”

Both men turned to John expectantly, Mycroft indignant and awaiting his response.

“I think that decision is best left to Sherlock.” John said neutrally. He had to admit that he was beginning to enjoy Mycroft’s irritation at the idea that John had more authority over Sherlock’s care than he did.

“That’s fine. Ah. There’s the anesthesiologist so your time with Sherlock is even shorter now, Mycroft,” Becca’s tone making it clear that Mycroft had only himself to blame for this.

John had thought, up until this point, that Mycroft’s face couldn’t get any redder. He’d been wrong.

“Doctor…Becca…I’m going to see my brother now and for as long as I’d like. Do you understand?” Mycroft gave her a look that, had it been pointed in anyone else’s direction, would have immediately turned the blood in their veins to ice. Becca, however, remained unfazed.

“I understand, Mycroft…” Becca said, already turning on her heel and leading the way to Sherlock’s room.

“Good. I’m glad to hear it,” Mycroft said to her back, smugly.

Becca kept walking, and, without hesitation replied;

“What I was going to say, before I was so rudely interrupted, was; I understand that you think that you’re better than everyone else and can order people around to do your bidding in the certainty that you will be obeyed without question,” Becca paused at the door Sherlock’s room and waited for Mycroft to catch up.

“You’re very impertinent, ‘Becca,’” Mycroft said, venom clear in his voice. “I’ll be sure to take this matter up with your superiors and have them deal with your behavior. I doubt you’ll be as smug once the board, on which I sit, has finished dealing with you.”

“Oh, Mycroft. Mycroft. Mycroft. Surely you of all people should know better than to threaten the surgeon who is about to operate on your brother. Tsk. Tsk. Tsk. And I was already aware that you were a board member at Bart’s. I just don’t give a flying fig about it.”

Mycroft froze, suddenly nervous about what the doctor had just said to him. It vexed him. He who hadn’t been nervous in decades, if ever. A worried expression appeared on his face as he approached the door that was now being held open for him.

“We’ll talk about…,” Mycroft began, trying to assert his authority.

“Yes. Yes. I know. We’ll talk about this later. Honestly, Mycroft. Are you always this predictable?” Becca gestured that he enter before her. 

“Impertinent!” Mycroft huffed but not as loudly this time, the doctor’s warning in the back of his mind.

“It all makes sense now. The way that Sherlock described you,” she mused as Mycroft stalked past her into the room.

“And how would that be?” Mycroft asked angrily.

“He said that you were an over protective cunt with a superiority complex.” Sherlock hadn’t said anything about his brother at all but Becca felt confident that he’d probably said something similar at one time or another, and judging by the look on Mycroft’s face, on more than one occasion.

The door closed behind them cutting off any response that Mycroft might have given.

Greg and John looked at each in stunned silence, then burst out laughing until a ward nurse came in demanding that they not disturb the patients.

Recognizing Doctor Watson, she paused in her diatribe and said, “Doctor Watson! I expect better from you!”

“Yes, you’re right. I sincerely apologize,” John said, trying to hold back a smile while acknowledging the truth of her statement with a nod.

“I’m not impressed with your actions either, Detective Inspector Lestrade,” this last said with utter disdain clear in her voice. Because of his work for the Yard, Lestrade was a frequent visitor to Bart’s, bringing in and/or interviewing, anyone who had been injured during a case - including suspects - and this nurse knew him on sight.

“Yes, mum,” Greg lowered his head looking properly chastened.

“Good. You two are grown men, act like it!” She snapped. 

“Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to get back to my patients!” As the nurse stomped away, her rubber soles squeaking on the tile floor with every step, the sound of Doctor Watson and DI Lestrade’s barely controlled snickering, carried to her ears - loudly - in the empty room. 

She stiffened her shoulders upon hearing it, but kept walking, head held high, muttering “Arseholes”under her breath as she went. The next thing she heard was one of the men snorting while the other tried and failed, to hold in a laugh. She turned the corner and, using both hands, angrily shoved the double doors open, putting the two idiots completely out of her mind. For now…


	20. The Moment Of Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Becca begins guiding Mycroft and John to the right conclusions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These chapters are so hard for me to write. I'm not happy with it and I find it unbearably mushy but, well, I needed to move the story along and no matter how many times I've rewritten this, I still think it's lame so I decided to just give up and post it. 
> 
> Thank you for your patience.
> 
> Debbie

***

Becca placed a hand on Mycroft’s arm once the door had closed, stopping him before he could continue on to his brother’s bedside.

Mycroft looked at the hand that was on his arm, then slowly up to the person attached to it.

“Take your hand off of me, Becca,” Mycroft said with a sneer.

Becca removed her hand but without any hint of apology. Her attitude spoke of someone removing their hand because they had wanted to, not because you’d asked. Mycroft didn’t miss OR appreciate the attitude.

“I need to talk to you about Sherlock,” Becca said softly.

“You’ve already spoken to everyone, madam. Leave me in peace to visit with my brother before he’s taken to surgery.”

“I didn’t mention everything in the hallway. This is something that you need to know before you speak with Sherlock,” Becca said meeting his gaze..

“And what more could there possibly be?” Mycroft asked archly.

“Be gentle with your brother. He’s more traumatized than you know.”

“Really? How so?” Mycroft asked, condescension clear in his voice. This woman couldn’t possibly be aware of anything about Sherlock that he didn’t already know. He’d discussed the events with Greg and considered himself well informed. Not about John Watson, though. 

There was something distinctly off about that man. He was guilty of…something…and by the time Mycroft found out what he was hiding, Watson will have told him his entire life story down to the first girl he’d ever kissed, and the first time he’d ever stolen anything. 

Mycroft was actually excited about the impending interrogation. He needed to take his frustration out on someone and John Watson was about to be the beneficiary of all of his current irritation with Doctor, Becca. She was adding even more fuel to the fire by insinuating that she knew Sherlock better than he.

“Sherlock was assaulted prior to today’s attack,” Becca said simply.

“‘Assaulted?’ Assaulted how?” Mycroft demanded.

“Let’s just say that the assault was successful the first time,” Becca looked at Mycroft and waited for her meaning to sink in.

“Are you saying…,” Mycroft hesitated to say what he was thinking out loud. As if it wouldn’t be true if he didn’t say it.

“Sherlock was sexually assaulted before today?” Mycroft asked, voice lowered in shock.

“Yes.”

“And, that…,” Mycroft swallowed. “The assault was, it, they…he was penetrated?”

“Yes. If it’s any consolation, I believe that he was drugged prior to the assault. He was most likely aware of what was happening to him but he didn’t suffer, physically. Mentally, however…” Becca trailed off.

“Does Doctor Watson know about this?!” Mycroft demanded.

“I believe that Doctor Watson was informed about this when he stopped the attack. Or that Sherlock told him while they were waiting for the ambulance to arrive. He’s having a hard time dealing with the information as well. Which you might have noticed if you hadn’t been so busy acting all Alpha male/big brother, out there.”

“I AM an Alpha male and Sherlock IS my brother! It’s my duty to protect him from things like this!”

“Your brother is an adult who often throws himself into danger. He knows that there are risks involved in every case. Sometimes you get away scot free, while other times…”

“He’s my responsibility!” Mycroft hissed, eyes glistening.

“He’s a grown man who does as he pleases. You feel like you’ve let your brother down because you weren’t able to stop what happened. He really doesn’t expect you to come in and save the day. Not often, anyway,” Becca smiled.

“I need to talk to Sherlock now!” Mycroft said and took a step towards where his brother lay still and quiet in the hospital bed. He looked so small in that moment that Mycroft was reminded of the time that Sherlock had fallen out of a tree when he’d been 10 and broken his ankle. Mycroft hadn’t been there to protect him that time either. 

“Mycroft! Do NOT upset Sherlock! He’s barely hanging on as it is. The last thing that he needs is you demanding answers and berating him for any mistakes you feel that he made.”

“I would never!” Mycroft began.

“You have ALWAYS done that, Mycroft. Always. Normally it’s a game that you two play but what I’m telling you now is; not today. He’s not strong enough to handle it right now.”

“He’s the strongest person I know!” Mycroft spat.

“He’s not strong today and if you can’t accept that and act accordingly, then I’m afraid that I’ll have to ask you to leave the room without talking to Sherlock at all. So what will it be?” Becca gave him a steady gaze.

Mycroft thought about arguing further but realized that she was right. This wasn’t the time to tell his brother how foolish he’d been. 

Shoulders slumping, Mycroft nodded in acquiescence then walked slowly towards where his brother lay and looked down upon him. 

Dark eyelashes fanned against pale cheeks, his lips trembling sporadically, Mycroft felt a sudden wave of love for his brother that was so strong, he just wanted to gather him up and hold him in his arms and tell him that everything would be ok. He’d find the people who’d done this and make them pay.

Becca watched in silence from the door as Mycroft reached out and smoothed the damp curls away from Sherlock’s sweaty forehead.

“Myc…?” Sherlock, eyes still closed, rasped.

“Yes, ‘lock. I’m here,” he replied softly.

“I’m sorry about all of this. I’m usually so much better at this sort of thing.”

“No, your not,” Mycroft gave a little laugh.

“Statistically…,” Sherlock began.

“Yes. I know. Statistically, you’re a very successful detective. I know.”

“Where’s John?” Sherlock said on a sigh.

“He’s…he’s waiting outside to see you. I’ll get him as soon as I leave.”

“I need to…to explain things to him…,” Sherlock began.

“Shh…I know. I know. Save your strength. We’ll talk about this later.”

“I don’t want to talk about it…Myc. It hurts so much! There’s nothing left. There’s nothing left. It’s all just pain. I can’t take much more of this,” Sherlock sobbed.

“Oh, Sherlock. I’ll see that you’re taken care of.”

“Mycroft?” Becca asked.

“Yes?” Mycroft replied, eyes still focused on Sherlock’s pale face.

“The anesthesiologist is here and would like to get Sherlock prepped for surgery. He’ll be given pain meds with his sedation so the sooner she can get started…”

“Yes. Yes, of course. Sherlock? I’ll be here when you get back. Don’t worry. I’ll make this right.” A tear escaped Mycroft’s eye and he dashed it angrily away.

“John?”

“I’ll send him in right now. Everything’s going to be fine. I promise.” Mycroft nodded at Becca and headed towards the door allowing it to shut behind him on its own.

***

John looked up as soon as he heard the door open and saw Mycroft exit, head down, shoulders slumped, looking defeated. This was not the same man who had marched angrily into that room ten minutes ago.

“Is everything…is he ok?” John asked anxiously.

“As well as can be expected. He’s asking for you…John.”

John nodded, and without another word, walked to Sherlock’s room immediately. As the door closed behind him, Greg said;

“Are you ok, Myc? You’re white as a sheet. What happened in there?” Greg put an arm around Mycroft’s shoulders and it was an indication of just how upset he was that he accepted the comfort without protest.

“I’ve been such an awful brother,” Mycroft began.

“Hey. Don’t say that. You’re both awful brothers,” Greg said causing Mycroft to give a watery smile.

“True. Let’s just say that at the moment, I’m in the lead.”

“Tell me,” Greg said.

“Sherlock was assaulted, raped, before tonight. Well, today, technically.”

“Raped? I thought that it was fairly certain that the attacker hadn’t been successful and that the rape kit was just done as a matter of procedure,” Greg said, puzzled.

“Yes. No. I mean, Doctor Grant made it seem as if Sherlock’s attacker hadn’t been successful but at the time, it didn’t seem important to get confirmation on that fact. She just told me that he’d been raped before; successfully, as it happens.”

“God! When did this happen? Why are we just finding out about it? Does Doctor Watson know? That would explain his withdrawn and nervous behavior.”

“I don’t know when it happened, but I’ll find out. Becca thinks that John just found out and that’s why he’s acting so strangely. I won’t know for sure until I’ve talked to him but I suspect that he’s not going to be anymore forthcoming with details than he was earlier. He’s most likely going to direct me to Sherlock for answers which is the right thing to do but that won’t stop me from asking John anyhow.”

“Sherlock’s probably going to be in surgery for awhile so why don’t you sit down and wait while I go get us some tea from the cafeteria. Alright?” Greg asked.

“Thank you, Greg. That would be lovely. You’re a wonderful man. What did I ever do to deserve you?” 

Greg used his arm around Mycroft’s shoulders to guide him to a chair in the waiting room. He lowered him gently to the chair and stood gazing at down at him fondly.

“Everything, Myc. I’ve been yours since the first moment I laid eyes on you. One of my crime scenes, remember? And you lectured me about relying on Sherlock too much to get my job done. I believe that was your idea of an intervention on Sherlock’s behalf,” Greg said with a laugh.

“Yes. He didn’t appreciate my showing up on “his” crime scene unannounced and unasked for, that day,” Mycroft said with a laugh which ended in a sob.

“It’s going to be ok, Myc. He’s a tough one. And now he has three people to look out for him. One of us ought to be able to keep his narrow arse out of trouble.”

“Not bloody likely, although I do appreciate the sentiment.” Mycroft took Greg’s hand and placed it against his warm cheek. “I love you, you know.”

“And I you, Myc.” Greg smiled down at him.

“Why haven’t we gone through with the bonding ritual?” Mycroft asked rhetorically. He knew why.

“I thought that you wanted to keep our relationship under wraps to avoid it looking like a conflict of interest to the higher ups. It’s fine. I understand. I want you but I’m willing to wait for you. You’re worth it, you know.”

“What if I don’t want to wait anymore. What if I wanted to have the ceremony right away. Do you…would that be ok with you? I’m not trying to rush you. Especially since I’ve been the one holding us up, it’s just…this thing with Sherlock made me think…what if? What if I lost you before we took that final step. All that time wasted, and for what? Just to avoid gossip? No. Our line of work is very incestuous. We wouldn’t be the first couple whose fields had some kind of overlap. I’ve been so focused on my career that I took a chance on losing you. Something that I’d like to rectify tonight, if you’ll have me…” 

Mycroft trailed off, eyes glancing first at Greg’s face, then the mane of silver hair that somehow always managed to look perfect. His sweet smile, his beautiful eyes…Mycroft had already know that he was in love with Greg but the thought of losing him made him feel as if his heart was being ripped in two. His hands became sweaty and he began to quietly panic while awaiting an answer.

Greg leaned over, cupped Mycroft’s chin in the palm of his hand and said;

“Careful, love. You’re going to ruin your Iceman image,” Greg said, then kissed Mycroft passionately which was heartily returned.

“Is that a yes?” Mycroft asked breathlessly after the kiss had ended.

“Yes,” Greg said, smiling into Mycroft’s teary gaze.

“Tonight then,” Mycroft said.

“Tonight,” Greg repeated and kissed Mycroft again.

The Ward nurse had entered the waiting room unnoticed by either man. She’d stopped near the double doors as soon as she’d seen the intimate moment taking place in the lounge and stood watching the couple for a moment. Smiling, she shook her head and thought that she’d ignore their behavior. Just this once. Turning around, the nurse left the room just as quietly as she’d entered it. Greg and Mycroft, still kissing, were none the wiser. 

***

The anesthesiologist had set to work immediately and had already left. She’d given Sherlock something to relax him as well as pain medication.

“I’ll see you in surgery, Mister Holmes,” she said, smiling down on the quickly fading Sherlock who gave her a cursory nod which was the best he could do, given the amount of drugs in his system plus the dramatic drop in pain. He felt as if he’d run a marathon.

“John?”

“Right here, Sherlock.” John took Sherlock’s uninjured hand and gave it a light squeeze.

“Don’t leave. I need to talk…,” Sherlock said, his words fading out at the end.

“I won’t leave. I’ll be waiting for you in recovery, ok?”

“K. Tired,” Sherlock said on a sigh.

“I know sweetheart. Just close your eyes and let the drugs work. You’ll be back in no time.”

“Night,” Sherlock said and finally relaxed into a painless sleep.

Glancing up, John said;

“Doctor…Becca. I’ve only just found him. Take care of him. Please?”

“I’d already planned on it. Here, help me lift him up a bit so that I can remove one of these pillows behind his back before the orderlies get here.”

“Alright,” John said as he gently pulled up by the shoulders while Becca reached for the pillow behind him. 

Sherlock was wearing a hospital gown which had come undone in the back. As Becca pulled the pillow out, the collar of the gown slipped down exposing a livd bite mark that was clearly recent and only now beginning to scab over.

John looked up to find Becca watching him with an air of expectancy. John was the first to break the silence.

“Sherlock has a mate?” John asked, his heart plummeting to his feet. Why he suddenly felt heartbroken, he had no idea. He’d just met the man.

“Almost,” replied Becca.

“‘Almost?’ How can he ‘almost’ have a mate?” John asked, confused.

“Although Sherlock was bitten, he was unable to reciprocate and so the bond remains open.”

“They need to close the bond immediately. Sherlock’s health depends on it.”

“Yes. I know. I’ve already talked to Sherlock about it but he says that his mate is unaware that he’d initiated the bond. I told him that he should tell the man but he refused saying that he wouldn’t coerce someone into being his bond mate just so his health wouldn’t fail.”

“How could someone be so careless? How is it possible to begin the bonding ceremony yet leave it unfinished?” John asked, becoming angry.

“The potential mate had already been drunk when he was unknowingly drugged by a bartender. He didn’t realize what he was doing. It was an impulsive act. No malice was intended.”

“Why didn’t Sherlock say something?! Why did he let the man just leave?” John demanded heatedly.

“Because Sherlock wasn’t in a position to say anything at the time.” Becca said patiently.

John felt a sudden twinge of guilt in the pit of his stomach. He suspected that he knew exactly what Becca was talking about. 

“Sherlock cares for this man a great deal,” Becca continued. “He’d rather have nothing than have a mate who felt obligated to bond with him.” 

“Of all the pig-headed…where’s his mate?” John asked but Becca only gazed at him kindly and waited.

“Do you know who he is?” John demanded.

“Yes. I know.” Becca replied calmly.

“You should tell him so that they can close the loop.”

“What do you think I’m doing right now, John?” 

John stared at Becca, mouth hung open in shock.

“How’s that possible? We’re both Alphas. Alphas can’t form a chemical bond with another Alpha!” John was interrupted by the appearance of the orderlies who’d come in to take Sherlock to surgery. 

The orderlies released the bed and began to push it through the door that they’d left open for just reason. John stared at Becca, speechless.

“It would seem that your medical knowledge regarding bonding isn’t as up to date as you thought.”

“But, how…”

“That’s all I can tell you, John. The rest is up to Sherlock,” Becca said, following the orderlies out of the room. 

John stepped out into the hallway and stared at Becca’s retreating back.

“Be careful,” John said softly. Becca had heard him though and turned her head and addressed him directly;

“Of course. Don’t worry, John. He’ll be fine. I promise. I’ve been doing this for over a decade. I know what I’m doing.” Then she faced forward and entered the automatic doors leading to surgery.

As the doors closed quietly behind her, John thought; 

‘Please, Lord. Don’t let anything happen to him. I’ve only just found him.’ 

Then John walked into the lounge and prepared to wait.


	21. Rude Awakenings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock has a visitor in hospital.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been up writing this all night. Two more chapters to follow. When will this end?!
> 
> I read through and tried to clean it up but I'm sure that I missed a bunch of stuff so...sosdd.
> 
> Debbie

***

Sherlock heard the sound of his heartbeat but it was strange. Artificial. He drifted a little closer to wakefulness hearing people talk around him and about him but not to him. He wasn’t quite ready to open his eyes yet. He heard his heartbeat suddenly pickup speed and had a brief second to wonder what had caused it to change when he felt a stabbing pain in his chest and his hand felt like it was on fire. The skin felt so tight around his fingers that he thought that they must be close to bursting.

“He’s coming around…” Someone said.

“Sherlock…” He heard someone softly saying his name close to his ear. 

“Sherlock, time to wake up. Just for a bit and then you can go right back to sleep, ok?”

“S’stupid,” Sherlock mumbled.

“What’s that?”

“S’stupid to wake up to go right back to sleep. Already sleeping. Go way.”

Someone laughed at that, then tried again.

“I just want to see how you’re doing. Open your eyes,” someone said again.

“Use your own…” Sherlock snapped.

“Use my own? Use my own what, Sherlock,” asked the voice, infinitely patient but clearly humoring him.

“Use your own eyes. Why do I need to open my eyes so that you can see? Figure it out,” Sherlock said, clearly becoming annoyed and just as clearly, coming closer to consciousness.

“It will only take a moment…”

“No.”

“You’re almost completely awake. Just open your eyes. Please?”

“Buggering fuck, fuck, fuck, and bloody hell. WHAT?!” Sherlock said angrily. He thought he was yelling. He’d meant to be yelling, but what actually came out sounded more like a petulant whisper. He opened his eyes and looked up into John’s navy blue eyes. He looked concerned but a smile was visible in the crinkling at the corner of his eyes.

“How are you feeling?”

“How the fuck do you think I’m feeling?” Sherlock snapped although this too was barely above a whisper.

“Well, I can tell from your heart rate that your pain is increasing. The nurse is getting you something for that right now but once you’re in a room, you’ll be hooked up to a pain med drip that you can control yourself as needed.”

“Bullshit.”

“What? Why is that bullshit?”

“Because it won’t let me use as much as I need. It’s all metered.” Sherlock said.

“Tell me what hurts,” John asked, ignoring that last statement.

Sherlock lifted the hand that was currently bound to some sort of support, long pins poking up through the bandages and attached to wires.

“How do you think?”

John nodded as a nurse arrived with a hypodermic in one hand which she lay down on the bed tray, picked up an alcohol packet, opened it, and cleaned off the IV port. Throwing the used square in the bin, she picked up the syringe and slowly pushed the contents into Sherlock’s IV. Sherlock gave a deep sigh and his heart rate began to slow down almost immediately.

“Better?”

“Yesh,” Sherlock slurred, eyes drifting shut again.

“No. No. No. Wait.”

“Yes?” Sherlock sounded much more laid back now. Drugs could be a wonderful thing.

“How is your head?” John began.

“Hurts.”

“Do you feel nauseous?”

“No.”

“Good. They gave you something for nausea prior to surgery. I just wanted to make sure it was working so that we could give you another dose if it wasn’t. Vomiting in your condition…not a good idea.”

“Obviously.” Sherlock eyes remained closed but he was still responding to questions and that was good enough for now.

“How’s the hand?”

Sherlock tried wiggling his fingers. 

“Feels like my bones are trying to push through my skin. I can feel my heartbeat in my hand.” This last was said in a confused tone of voice.

“That’s just the blood pumping through your damaged tissue. It’s going to throb like that for awhile but the pain meds should be making it less noticeable.”

“‘I know why, John. It was just an observation,” Sherlock replied, almost completely out again.

“One more question,” John said hurriedly, trying to gather a bit more information before Sherlock faded away completely.

“Yesh.”

“How’s your leg feeling?” John waited while Sherlock appeared to think about it, finally asking;

“What’s wrong with it? Isss fine.”

“Nothing. That’s all I wanted to know. Go to sleep. The next time you wake up, you’ll be in your room.”

“‘k.”

The orderlies came in to take Sherlock to his private room. He assumed that Mycroft had arranged since most hospital rooms were shared.

He had to convince Sherlock that he wanted to complete the bonding ritual. The thought of Sherlock biting him caused a warm flush to rise up from his neck to his face which was quickly followed his cock becoming hard. Well, that was inappropriate, not too mention awful, timing.

The main problem being that Sherlock wasn’t in any condition to perform the bonding ritual. Ironically, he needed to complete the bond so that he could begin to heal properly. If Sherlock had never been bitten, then he wouldn’t have had anything interfering with the healing process. 

It was common knowledge that, should the person on the receiving end of a bite not close the loop, their health would steadily decline. It wasn’t normally a death sentence but eventually, that person would become house bound. Too exhausted to move, unable to concentrate long enough to solve the most minor of problems…he knew that that would kill Sherlock just as surely as if he’d put a gun to his head and pulled the trigger. 

John had spent some time researching same sex bonding. Becca had been correct when she’d said that John wasn’t up to date. He wasn’t sure if it meant that he was a homophobe because he’d assumed that a bond could only happen between a heterosexual couple. 

He’d never had a reason to wonder about Alpha/Alpha bonding before. He’d never given any thought to bonding in general. He hadn’t been interested. He’d had sexual relationships with people and even been exclusive with a few. He’d just never felt the urge to mate and that was usually the death of the relationship. That person wanted his bite and he’d had absolutely no desire to give it. Now, though, John was an expert on all the different ways that couples could bond. Biting each other during orgasm was enough for Betas and Omegas, apparently. It seemed that only an Alphas’ biology required knotting their mate to complete the ritual. 

It was so much simpler with Alpha/Omega or Alpha/Beta bonds. Same thing between an Omega/Omega. The Alpha knotted the Omega/Beta, bit them, they reciprocated the bite; bond complete. With two Alphas, though? Both had to knot the other in order for the bond to, for lack of a better term, take. 

Sherlock needed to knot John and bite him and he needed to do it sooner, rather than later. The question was; how to get Sherlock well enough to allow him to do his part.

His next step was to talk Becca and see if she could offer any suggestions.

They hadn’t called him back to the recovery room to see Sherlock until Becca had already been and gone. He expected to see her in Sherlock’s room sometime before visiting hours were over. She seemed well informed about the science behind mating; hopefully she’d know what to do in a situation like this.

John left recovery and took the elevator up to Sherlock’s room and prepared to wait.

***

Mycroft entered Sherlock’s room without disturbing John who had pulled a chair closer to the bedside and was holding Sherlock’s good hand. His head was bowed, his eyes closed and he kept repeating something over and over in a low tone of voice. Mycroft stay very still and tried to make out what he was saying.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Sherlock. This is all my fault. I never should have…never should have…I swear to you that I didn’t know. I’d never knowingly be a part of something like that. You have to believe me.” John’s eyes snapped open when he felt Sherlock give his hand a slight squeeze.

“I know, John. Don’t worry. I’d already figured that out as it was happening.” Sherlock said but it was too low for Mycroft to catch so he just stood there, silent and still, attention focused on the two men and their conversation. 

“I swear to you that I’ll make those bastards pay. They’ll regret ever having met either one of us by the time I’m through with them.” 

“Mycroft.”

“Mycroft? Do you want me to get him?”

“He’s here.” 

Mycroft didn’t know if Sherlock had been aware of his presence the entire time, but he doubted that he’d have let John continue confessing his sins if he had. 

John looked back and met Mycroft’s eyes. He was sure that Mycroft had been listening the entire time that John had been baring his soul. He suspected that he’d been standing there for awhile and had likely heard most, if not all, of what he’d been saying to Sherlock. He tried to determine just how much Mycroft might have heard but his face remained unreadable. 

“How is he?” Mycroft asked, walking to stand at the other side of Sherlock’s bedside.

“He’s...” John started only to be interrupted by Sherlock.

“He’s awake and you can ask him yourself,” Sherlock said, opening his eyes and glancing first at John, with what Mycroft would swear was a loving look, then turning his gaze to Mycroft and looking at him through narrowed eyes. 

“I see that your waspish tongue is returning. You must be feeling better.”

“Feeling better is relative. Compared to how I felt prior to surgery and drugs, yes, I am feeling artificially better.” 

John looked at Sherlock taking in his pale face and shallow breathing and knew that he was far from feeling better. He supposed that Sherlock wanted to maintain this false front with Mycroft although it was painfully clear to anyone who had eyes that Sherlock wasn’t remotely ok. 

“Better living through chemistry?” Mycroft said with a nod to the pain medication pump.

“You’ve done your due diligence. You may leave now,” Sherlock said, clearly exhausted by the brief conversation.

“I think that I’ll just sit over here and wait to hear Doctor Grant’s opinion on just how well you’re doing.” Mycroft sat in a nearby chair looking smug. The brothers seemed to get great joy from confounding each other.

John looked back and forth between Mycroft and Sherlock. It was obvious that Sherlock had used up what little store of energy that he had remaining but he continued to bicker with his brother.

“I’ll have her call you,” Sherlock said, sounding annoyed. 

“What will you have me do, Sherlock?” Becca asked, all smiles as she entered the room carrying an iPad which John knew from practical experience, would contain Sherlock’s medical records and up to date vitals. 

Upon reaching his bedside, Becca used her finger to scroll through the most recent updates on the tablet, then focused her attention on Sherlock awaiting but not really expecting an answer.

“My brother wants…” Sherlock sighed and promptly fell asleep, energy reserves suddenly depleted.

“I was wondering how long he was going to be able to keep with you, Mycroft,” John said frowning.

“Doctor Watson, believe me when I tell you that this is typical behavior from Sherlock. He hates losing control, especially in front of me, so he was determined to prove that he wasn’t weak.”

“He is weak, Mycroft,” John said sternly.

“Yes, well. You know that, and I know that, but Sherlock, well, Sherlock is Sherlock,” Mycroft finished lamely.

“You were baiting him,” John said, becoming irritated.

“I was not.”

“You absolutely were and it exhausted him.”

“Doctor Watson, I think that I know my brother a little better than you and…”

“Gentlemen. If you’re going to continue arguing, please take it outside.” Becca said.

“I’m sorry,” John said sincerely. Mycroft, as was typical, said nothing. He wasn’t about to apologize for this or anything else for that matter. 

“What is his status, Doctor…Becca?” Mycroft asked, his tone implying that they were both wasting his time, which didn’t phase Becca in the least.

“Well, since you’ve asked so prettily,” Becca said, smirking at Mycroft. She wondered if he’d ever accept that he couldn’t intimidate her. Probably not.

“He’s doing as well as can be expected. We finally have his pain under control which will help his recovery. He’s not going to heal fast enough to suit him and he’s going to feel worn out by the least little activity or discussion. So stop poking at him, Mycroft,” Becca finished.

“Doctor Grant…” Mycroft began.

“Becca.”

“Doctor Grant, I will deal with my little brother in any way that I see fit. I neither asked for, nor need your advice. Perhaps paying a bit more attention to field you’re currently in, would be the best course of action. If Sherlock needs a therapist, then I shall get him one. Until then, just do your job. Is that clear?” Mycroft said, making it a statement and not a request.

“My goodness. You ARE a pompous arse, aren’t you. I knew it was bad but this behavior exceeds my wildest expectations. You amuse me, Mycroft. Do you have any more breast beating to do or can we return to your brother’s health?”

“You. You’re out of line, Doctor,” Mycroft said angrily. He didn’t like losing control any more than Sherlock but this woman seemed determined to get a rise out of him and, much to his chagrin, it was working. He knew that he shouldn’t rise to the bait but this woman was so exasperating. Mycroft decided to begin looking for another physician as soon as he left.

“Don’t do that,” Becca said.

“Do what, madam?”

“Don’t try to replace me. You might not like me, the feeling which, I assure you, is mutual, but I’m an expert in my field and I’ve been with Sherlock since the beginning. This is not the time to change horses midstream, so put on your big boy knickers and behave yourself. For your brother’s sake, at least.” Becca finished and looked at Mycroft expectantly. His reaction could go either way and she couldn’t wait to see which one he chose.

Mycroft was caught off guard by her guess that he’d been thinking of replacing her. He probably wasn’t the first person who’d wanted to replace her so it was just an educated guess on her part. 

He was startled to realize that somewhere along the way, he’d begun to enjoy this battle of wits with Doctor Grant. Sherlock was the only person who could irritate him like this but it was beginning to look like he had some competition. Mycroft didn’t trust this woman a bit but she interested him which made him very uncomfortable.

“How long do you plan on trying to keep my brother in hospital?” Mycroft asked, ignoring her last comment.

“Ideally, four or five days. Between the fractured ribs and skull, not to mention the surgery on his hand, I think that it would be too much for him to send home right now. He will start physical therapy tomorrow which I’m sure he’ll try to resist. I also want to keep track of his breathing to make sure that he doesn’t develop pneumonia. He lives alone, doesn’t he?”

“Yes,” Mycroft replied.

“He’s going to require assistance for at a week or two while he gets used to his limitations. You could have him stay with you for that time and hire a nurse, or John could take a leave of absence, move in with Sherlock now, and act as his onsite physician, which would be my preference. John? Does that sound reasonable to you?”

John, who’d been listening to the conversation intently, was surprised to hear his name mentioned.

“Sorry. What?”

Mycroft, who’d had John investigated during Sherlock’s surgery and brief stay in recovery, was well aware of his strengths and weaknesses. This might actually be the best solution. Especially since they already seemed so attached to each other. Another thing that Mycroft needed to have investigated.

“You said that you were moving into 221B next week. I’ll have you moved out of your old flat and into the new one while you’re at work tomorrow. Unless you plan to sleep here, that is. If that’s the case, I can have you relocated tonight. Obviously, I would cover your part of the rent and you’d also receive a salary as well as the funds to keep the pantry stocked up. Well?” Mycroft asked impatiently.

“Well. That’s…,” John absently scratched the back of his head, thinking. He could be there for Sherlock 24/7, while also protecting him from any further visits from B-Club thugs. This might be the best solution all around.

“Ok. I’m in,” John replied, no hesitation or doubt in his voice.

“Good. Good. So where will you be sleeping tonight?” Mycroft asked.

“He’ll be sleeping at home, Mycroft. Time for you both to go, visiting hours are over.”

“But...,” John began.

“Sorry, John. You sitting here staring at Sherlock all night won’t help him one bit. I’m fairly certain that Sherlock will be a demanding patient so you should try to get as much rest as possible while you can.”

“Ok. I guess,” John said hesitantly.

“He’ll be fine. I promise,” Becca said.

“I’ll need to request time off. I’m not sure how well that’s going to go over.”

“It’s already been arranged,” Mycroft said, sending a final text and looking up from his mobile.

“Already? How’s that possible?”

“I have an excellent assistant. Your last day of work is Friday. While you’re at the clinic tomorrow, the movers will be at your flat packing you up. Your only responsibility will be to head straight to Baker Street after work.”

“But, I don’t have any boxes. I need to pack my clothes and…,”

“When I said that the movers would be packing you up, I meant that they’d take care of everything. Here, you’ll need this,” Mycroft said, removing a key from his pocket and handing it to John.

John accepted the key, head swirling from all of changes being made to his life without any involvement on his part. It felt distinctly odd and he felt a shiver of unease creep along his spine. He hoped that this wasn’t a portent of things to come.

“That’s Sherlock’s house key. I’ll have a new one cut immediately to replace it. You’ll have it tomorrow although I’m certain that Sherlock won’t have a need for his any time in the near future. That and he never locks the door.”

“Really? Ok. Who should I give the key to my flat tomorrow so that the movers can get in.” John began fishing about in his pocket looking for the key.

“No need. They won’t have a problem getting in. Besides, you strike me as the sort of fellow who’s going to want to take one last look at their former home to make sure that nothing was missed so you’ll want to hang onto that key. Just leave it on the counter in the kitchen and lock up on your way out. Questions?”

“None that I can think of at…”

“Good. Good. Well, I must be off. I’m having a minor dignitary assassinated later today and I’m needed in the office,” Mycroft said, looking at Becca. She gave him a smile and he surprised himself by smiling back.

“Yes. Well. Duty calls. Until tomorrow.” 

By the time John had thought of a question, Mycroft had gone and was already getting on the lift.

John watched the as the lift doors closed on Mycroft then turned to Becca and asked;

“I need to complete the bonding with Sherlock as soon as possible. Is there a way to do that without hurting him?”

“I already have a solution to that. Here,” Becca said, handing over a small container that looked like roll on deodorant. The label just showed the chemical makeup of, John assumed, its contents.

“What’s this?” John asked, then began uncapping the lid.

“Don’t open that now. Especially not in a room with a shared return air system. I’ll take you to the appropriate room tomorrow and we’ll see if we can get Sherlock comfortable enough to cooperate.”

“What is this?” John asked, looking at the container suspiciously.

“It’s a small amount of synthetic Omega slick. A little bit goes a long way. Once we’ve gotten you both to the clean room, you’ll only need to roll a tiny bit on your neck to get Sherlock’s…interest. I’ll make sure that he’s pain free before we go. I’m sure I can trust you to be gentle with him.” Becca said rhetorically. 

“Yes. Of course!”

“Calm down, John. I already know that you’re going to protect your mate at all costs. Killing his attacker was a huge hint in that direction. Time to go,” Becca said.

John took Sherlock’s hand and held it to his cheek. He felt very warm but not quite feverish.

“I’ll be back tomorrow, Sherlock.” John placed a kiss on Sherlock’s palm, returned his hand back to the bed, and reluctantly stood up.

“Are you sure I can’t stay? I’m afraid to leave him alone,” John said worriedly.

“There are nurses on the floor 24/7 and once visiting hours are over, this wing can’t be accessed without a keycard. He’ll be fine. 

Visiting hours have been over for at least an hour anyhow, time to get you out of here before you’re thrown out. Actually, I’m surprised that that hasn’t already happened. 

Once the bond has been completed, I’ll see what I can do about getting bed in here so that you can stay with Sherlock. As his mate, that shouldn’t be a problem. Come on. I’ll walk you to the lift. I’m going to the cafeteria to get a delicious vending machine dinner. I’m starved!”

“Long day,” John said, following Becca into the elevator.

“Yes, but not one minute was a waste of time.”

The lift doors opened at the ground level of the hospital. They both got out, said goodnight, then headed in opposite directions. 

John wasn’t sure that he’d be able to sleep tonight but he’d do his best. Sherlock needed him and that’s all that mattered.


	22. An Unexpected Visitor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock is left alone in his hospital room and receives an unexpected and unwanted visitor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was up all night writing...blah, blah, blah. You know the drill. This probably isn't a surprise, but there are going to be a shit load of mistakes in this.

***

Watching the lift doors close from a shadowy corner, the man wearing green scrubs walked into Sherlock’s room with the confidence of someone who belonged there. He was wearing a hospital lanyard - those were easy to get when one of your best customers was the hospital administrator - and would pass a cursory inspection without issue.

Closing and locking the door behind him, he walked to the machines monitoring Sherlock’s vitals and silenced the alarms. He didn’t want any interruptions during his little visit with Sherlock and those nurses would jump up at a moment’s notice should an alarm go off. Now, that wouldn’t happen. Problem solved.

He stood next to the pump controlling Sherlock’s pain medication, turned it off then watched his heart rate speed up as the meds wore off. He’d be conscious soon.

“Sherlock. Sherlock…. Wake up, sleepy head. You have a visitor.”

Sherlock’s eyes slowly opened and he winced in pain as his nerve endings suddenly came back online. The heart monitor would have been going crazy by now, had it not been silenced.

“Ooh. Looks like you’re in pain. Hurts, doesn’t it?”

“Chris?”

“Yep.”

“Why…,” Sherlock’s breath hitched as his hand began to throb, “…are you here?”

“I just wanted to have a chat with an old customer. We have things to discuss.” Chris said, clearly enjoying Sherlock’s rapidly increasing discomfort.

“We have. We have nothing to discuss. Go way.” Sherlock was nervous, a new and uncomfortable feeling. He was at the mercy of this man and he had no way to defend himself.

“See. That’s where you’re wrong. Let’s go over the important bits. One, you killed my henchman. I normally wouldn’t use such an old fashioned term but, in this case, it’s fitting, so we’ll just leave it at that. 

Now, I don’t mind that you killed him…”

“I didn’t…,” Sherlock protested weakly.

“Not directly but your boyfriend did which means,” Chris said, placing an index finger directly onto the fracture in Sherlock’s skull, slowly increasing the pressure until he moaned in agony.

“It wasn’t a great loss but that’s not the problem. The problem is; why was your boyfriend there. I. Told. You. To. Get. Rid. Of. Him,” Chris said, tapping the fracture as if to emphasize each word. Blood began to trickle from the wound.

“Why is he still around?” Chris removed his finger from Sherlock’s skull and stood back, arms crossed in front of him, a patient look on his face.

Sherlock doubted that he’d be conscious much longer and he hoped that Chris didn’t do anything worse when that happened.

“I haven’t spoken to him….” Sherlock began.

“You have a mobile, don’t you?”

“Yes, but…”

“Oh, look! I think a stitch is coming loose from that fracture of yours.” Chris leaned over and pulled one of the knots at the end of a suture.

“Please don’t,” Sherlock said. He hated himself for pleading. He sounded weak and he hated being weak. He’d never let someone get to him like this before, but here he was, all but begging this man to stop hurting him. He was beginning to think that the open bond was causing him to act out of character and he didn’t like it one bit.

“GOD!” Sherlock cried out as Chris tugged on a knot.

“Well, you know, all you had to do was get rid of him,” Chris said, then grasped the knot between the nails of his forefinger and thumb, pulling as hard as he could until the knot came free. Sherlock cried out. Chris examined the suture closely. Bits of blood and tissue clung to it.

“Eww!” Chris said, flicking it away where it stuck on a nearby wall. He picked at the next knot and prepared to pull it. 

“How about this. You haven’t told him anything, have you?” Chris said, yanking on the next knot.

“Ow! No. I haven’t told him a thing.”

“I’m not sure that I believe you, Sherlock,” Chris said, yanking out the next suture. Sherlock’s back arched in pain which was immediately followed by a coughing fit as his broken ribs protested. He couldn’t catch his breath…couldn’t…

“Shh…,” Chris said, closing a hand over Sherlock’s nose and mouth. “I’m afraid that I’m going to have to insist that you pull yourself together. You’re going to wake up the neighbors.”

Sherlock stared up at him, wide eyed and starved for air.

“Do you understand?”

Sherlock nodded his head and Chris removed his hand from his face.

Sherlock reflexively took a deep breath and his chest felt like it was on fire. He began taking shallow breaths, trying to keep the pain from overtaking him completely.

“You need to stop that, you’re about the hyperventilate and there are still eight more stitches to go!” Chris said, yanking another suture from Sherlock’s head.

“My bad. Seven. Seven stitches to go.”

“What do you want from me?” Sherlock gasped.

“Well, I wanted you to get rid of John but now that he’s gone and become your own personal savior, I guess that’s out of the question. Maybe I’ll just drop by occasionally and torture you. You know. So you don’t forget what you’re not supposed to do. What do you think?” Chris grabbed another knot and tugged it out. Blood was now flowing down freely, onto Sherlock’s face and into his eyes. He tried blinking it away but the blood just followed the same path.

“God. I’ll remember. I’ll remember. Please stop!”

“Yeah. I think you’ve had enough. I doubt you’ll be conscious for much longer anyhow. Looks like you’re going into shock. Too bad those alarms are off. It would have been really helpful to have someone come in and take care of this mess you’ve made.”

Chris stood back and admired his handiwork. The skin that had been sutured now lay loosely against Sherlock’s scalp.

“Ouch! Seems like I might have torn some of your skin. It’s not going to be a pretty scar.” Chris said, smiling.

“Just, go. Please.”

“I guess you’ve learned your lesson - for now.” Chris turned on his heel to leave but turned back suddenly, causing Sherlock to jerk in surprise. Between the panting, his moans had increased to the point where they seemed connected. Pant. Moan. Pant. Moan. He just wanted this man to leave. 

“Wait a minute! I can’t leave you like this!” Chris exclaimed and leaned towards the now turned off pump containing Sherlock’s pain medication. For a second, Sherlock felt a surge of hope. It had been turned off so long that the pain was now out of control. It would take a long time for the meds to work but he didn’t care. He just wanted it turned back on.

Chris turned back to him and smirked. 

“Oh! I almost forgot! I can’t leave you with your stitches all uneven. I’ll just remove the rest. That way, the surgeon can work with a clean slate when they sew you back up!” Chris reached out and picked up another knot.

“No. Please.”

“You’re right. You’re right. I’m being inconsiderate. Wait a minute.” Chris released the knot and then rummaged around the countertop looking for something.

“Ah hah! Success!” Chris said, brandishing a hemostat in front of Sherlock’s face.

“I caught a glimpse of this when I was silencing the alarms. This is a much more humane way to remove those pesky stitches. Ready?” Chris said, walking towards Sherlock and opening the tool.

“Stop. Just stop. I won’t tell anyone anything.”

“Well, you know what? I believe you. I really do. Unfortunately, I’m one of those people who hates to leave a job unfinished. Only six more to go.” Chris said and set to work yanking the remaining six stitches from Sherlock’s scalp.

At this point, Sherlock was beyond speech. He could only lay there while his skin was being ripped apart. The bleeding had begun to soak into his bedclothes. It was warm and sticky in some places, but cooling off and drying in others.

Chris straightened up and heard his back crack.

“That position is tough on the spine. I hope that I haven’t done any permanent damage by helping you to understand things,” Chris said, turning back to the pump.

“I’ll bet you’d really like me to turn this back on now, huh?” Chris asked, finger on the switch.

Sherlock said nothing. Just watched.

“I said; I’ll bet you’d really like me to turn this on right now. Answer me!”

“Yes.”

“Well, ok then. That’s all you had to say.” Chris flipped the switch, the device coming back to life and began pushing pain medicine into Sherlock’s IV. 

He felt the medicine as it moved up his arm and sighed in anticipation of relief. It was finally over. Thank god.

Chris had gotten to the door and was getting ready to unlock it so that he could leave when he suddenly stopped and smacked himself on his forehead.

He turned around, met Sherlock’s eyes and gave him a malicious grin.

“How could I be so stupid! I almost forgot to turn the alarms back on!” 

Chris began turning the alarms on but turned the volume down. No one would be coming for Sherlock any time soon.

“There! Better hope that someone with terrific hearing walks past and hears these going off. It’s a quiet racket.”

Chris walked back to Sherlock, who cringed, trying to get away from the man. He looked down at the IV in Sherlock’s arm, then back to Sherlock.

“Well, that’s going to have to be replaced.” Chris said, then yanked the IV out of Sherlock’s arm. Blood began pouring out of the now open tubing in his forearm.

“Wow! Look at that! The person who started that IV really knows their stuff. It’s taped down so well that only the cap came off with the tubing. Fortunately, the original port is still in place. Unfortunately, you seem to have sprung a leak. I wonder if you can bleed to death from an open IV.”

Chris went to the counter and picked up a roll of medical tape which he showed to Sherlock.

“Let me see if I can fix it.” Chris walked back to Sherlock, his feet sliding on the bloody floor.

“Geez. That’s a lot! You just need some patching up.” Chris wrapped the end of the tape around the one spot that didn’t have blood all over it, then wound the roll around and around until he reached the port. He wrapped this around several times and covered the opening in the tubing. The bleeding had slowed down but the tape was coming undone due to the blood coating the tubing, and leaking through the tape.

“Oh man. That’s not going to last long. Hey. You look really pale. And your eyes are starting to roll into the back of your head. Time for me to go! Be good, Sherlock.” Chris patted the hand with all of the pins in it but between the pain and blood loss, Sherlock had finally passed out.

“Darn. That was a waste. I’ll have to come back and fix up that hand later. Sweet dreams.” He took off the now bloody scrubs covering his clothes and shoved them in the hamper in the loo. Walking to the door, he unlocked it and peaked around the corner to make sure that the coast was clear. Then he walked to the door to the stairwell, swiped his lanyard against the metal plate, unlocking the door, and set a leisurely pace down the stairs and out of the building.

He usually didn’t do grunt work himself. He didn’t like to get his hands dirty but he’d made an exception for Sherlock and he’d enjoyed himself. A lot. He planned on visiting Sherlock again sometime in the near future. Maybe at his flat where there wouldn’t be a chance that they’d be interrupted. He wasn’t big on rape but he supposed that he’d make an exception for Sherlock on that one too.

On the way to his car he thought of all of the things that he could do to Sherlock during his next visit and began to whistle a happy tune. Midnight seemed like a great time for torturing people and the thought made him smile. People passing him saw his smile and returned it; his grin was infectious. 

Reaching his car, he got in and started it, then sat for a minute getting goosebumps just from thinking of the things that he would do to Sherlock on his next visit.

Putting the car in gear, he backed out of the parking spot, exited the hospital parking lot and headed home. He spent the rest of the drive, thinking, one hand on the steering wheel, the other absently rubbing his rock hard cock. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so happy. Wait until he told Becca!


	23. Player Two Enters The Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock's a nervous wreck. The open bond is causing his emotions to go haywire and he doesn't know how to deal with all of these new found feelings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah. Stayed up all night. Did world's worst editing job and am serving it up to you know. I'm sure you'll get the gist of it. :D

***

Becca sat in the cafeteria drinking a cup of subpar vending machine coffee. Which was redundant when she thought about it. A woman sat across from her, elegantly dressed with a lab coat covering her designer clothes. She had dark brown hair swept up in a chignon, and sparkling blue eyes. Becca would do anything for her. Anything.

“How’s Sherlock?” The woman asked, concern clear in her voice.

“Not so good. I’ve convinced John to complete the bonding process tomorrow night, assuming that Sherlock’s up to it.”

“He’ll be up to it. He doesn’t have a choice. Not if he wants to heal properly.”

“They seem to really love each other! I’ve heard of soulmates but I’ve never actually seen it happen. They’re adorable together. Still, I regret the way they met.”

“You didn’t have a choice. I told Sherlock repeatedly to stay out of the brothel. That I already had someone undercover in there investigating the books and trying to figure out if Chris was involved in the sex slavery ring. 

I can’t have a partner doing that sort of thing. It would ruin my reputation if anyone found out that I was a silent partner of B-Club much less involved in this disgusting slavery practice. There are so many people willing to have sex for money, why would he get into the kidnapping business?”

“If I had to guess, I’d say that he was mentally disturbed,” Becca replied. 

The woman nodded at Becca in agreement.

Becca followed up with; “And dumb.”

The woman laughed at that, then said;

“Let’s go see Sherlock. I’ve missed the idiot. Plus, I want to say ‘I told you so.’” The woman smiled.

“I wouldn’t do that until after the bonding ritual has been completed. He’s not well enough to participate in witty repartee,” said Becca.

“True. And he’d be angry if I took advantage of his weakened condition. You’re right. He needs to get better before I can make fun of him. At least give him a fighting chance to get some smartarse comments in. God, I love that man,” the woman said and sighed.

Seeing the worried look on Becca’s face, the woman reassured her by saying;

“Not like that! You know that you’re my one and only,” the woman said, giving Becca a sultry smile.

“I know. Just a random stab of jealousy. Actually, I’ve developed quite a crush on him myself during this ordeal.”

Standing up, the woman pitched her still full cup into the bin and held her hand out to Becca to help her up.

They walked together in companionable silence when Becca suddenly stopped dead in her tracks.

The woman had gone ahead a bit before she noticed that Becca was no longer beside her.

“What’s wrong?”

“I just saw Chris in the parking lot. He was smiling.”

“Oh fuck. We’d better hurry up and pick up the pieces - if he’s left anything to pick up. I swear, if he’s killed Sherlock, he’ll be next!” The woman said angrily.

“You were already having him killed anyway,” Becca said pragmatically as they stepped into the lift.

“True, but that was business. Chris has just made it personal. I was going to make it quick but he’s going to have to suffer now.”

Due to the late hour, they reached Sherlock’s floor in record time but it still didn’t seem fast enough. The woman’s hands were in her lab coat pockets, so tightly clenched that the knuckles where white. A sense of dread washed over her. She didn’t know what they’d find.

Becca scanned her lanyard over the metal plate and the doors swung open. The ward seemed empty which was wrong. Someone should at least be doing rounds on the hour.

They hurried to Sherlock’s room and could hear the alarms on the equipment going off, quietly frantic. Becca pushed the door open so hard that it slammed into the wall.

They took in the room. There was so much blood that, other than the scalp wound being torn open, Becca didn’t know where the rest was coming from.

Becca hit the emergency button and called for emergency triage supplies. Hoping that they could be repaired without surgery.

“My poor Sherlock. What’s that bastard done to you?” The woman said, gently pulling a sticky curl out of the wound on his scalp.

The emergency team arrived and as everyone tried to comprehend what they were seeing, an audible gasp went around the room. 

“How could you let this happen?! How could you leave him untended in the first place, much less long enough for these injuries to have taken place?! Give me that!” Becca grabbed the tray that the team had brought in with them and began looking for the source of the wounds, patching them up as she went.

“Someone ripped his IV out. God knows how long he’s been without pain meds. Hand me that IV kit. This one is damaged and I wouldn’t trust it anyway even if it hadn’t been” 

Becca gently peeled the tape back from the IV and set it aside in the emesis dish. The site of the original IV was bruised and swollen. She wouldn’t be able to use that vein again.

She began slapping the bottom of Sherlock’s forearm, trying to find a suitable vein to use but they refused to cooperate.

“Check his chart, get his blood type and get two bags of blood up here, STAT! You!” Becca pointed at another woman.

“Bring me a syringe with pain medication. Check the dosage on the chart and double it. I don’t want to make him wait for pain relief while I’m searching for a good vein.”

The woman that Becca had addressed, nodded curtly and went to the nurses desk to enter her code so that she could pull the pain medication. Prepping the syringe, and ensure that there weren’t any air bubbles, she hurried back and tried to hand the syringe to Becca.

“Jesus Christ! You do it! Can’t you see that I’m trying to get an IV started?!”

A embarrassed blush rose to the woman’s face but she didn’t hesitate and injected the syringe of pain meds into Sherlock’s arm.

“Got it!!” Becca yelled. Taping the new IV in place, she connected new tubing to the pump and let the line run into a nearby bin until the air had left and only the medication remained. 

She connected the new tubing to Sherlock’s IV, set the machine to start with a therapeutic dose of pain meds to secure immediate relief, then set the rest to an amount needed to maintain that relief. 

Becca watched Sherlock’s stats on the monitors as they slowly returned to an reasonable range. She pushed her hair off of her sweaty forehead and began to rapidly give orders. Pointing at each person in turn, she said;

“You! Go find Mister Holmes another private room. I don’t care if it’s in the maternity ward, just find one! We’ll fix it later. 

You! Call hazardous waste management and report that there’s been a large amount of blood that requires cleanup. 

You! Get everything that you’ll need to wash all of this blood off of Mister Holmes’ body. Wash his hair first so I can stitch up his scalp.”

A nurse arrived with the blood and began setting up an IV in a different location, hung the bag on the pole and watched as the blood began to work its way down to Sherlock’s arm.

“Go get some orderlies to bring up a new bed for Mister Holmes. Once he’s been cleaned up, we’re going to move him to that bed and then take him to his new room. Make sure that heated blankets are ready for him as soon as he gets there.”

The woman moved to the other side of the bed so that Becca could get to Sherlock’s scalp, numb the area around the wound, and began to neatly stitch it up. She’d try to minimize the scarring but wasn’t confident that she’d be successful. The damage was too severe.

The woman gently brushed the back of her fingers against Sherlock’s deathly pale face, whispering nonsense more to comfort herself than him.

“Oh, Sherlock. Why won’t you ever listen? You stubborn, stubborn man.”

Sherlock slowly opened his eyes, clearly still in pain and very definitely not enjoyed his head being stitched up - again.

“How do you feel?” The woman asked.

Sherlock gave her an incredulous look but said nothing.

“You’re right. Dumb question. Can I get anything for you?”

“Yes. Please call Mycroft and tell him that security doesn’t seem to be the best here and if we want to keep this kind of thing from happening again - which I most certainly do - to please set a guard outside the door of whatever room I end up in. I don’t know if I can survive another attack like that. I don’t know that I’d want to.”

“Sherlock. Don’t say that! It’ll be ok.”

“Yeah. Everyone keeps saying that but it’s not ok. I was left alone and vulnerable for that madman to take his time with me. How is that ok?” Sherlock demanded.

“You’re right. I’m sorry. I don’t know how this happened. Chris shouldn’t have been able to get in here after hours.”

“He’s obviously getting help from someone in the inside. How did you know that he’d done all of this?” Sherlock asked, glancing down at his body for emphasis.

“Becca and I were coming back from drinking coffee in the cafeteria.” Sherlock frowned.

“I needed an update on your health and Becca needed coffee. She’s been up for the past 24 hours,” the woman said.

“How awful for her,” Sherlock said sarcastically.

“We thought that you were safe behind locked doors. He shouldn’t have been able to get in here.”

“Clearly, you were mistaken.”

“Yes. Yes we were. I’m so sorry.”

“Just, please call Mycroft and let him know what’s going on. I expect that he’ll show up while you’re still on the mobile with him. He’s not going to be very happy.”

“No. Nor should he,” the woman said. Removing her mobile from her purse, she pressed one button and, prepared to hit ‘send.’

“You have Mycroft on speed dial?” Sherlock said with little exhalation of breath which, if one were feeling generous, could have been called a laugh.

The woman smiled down at him and said;

“We worry about you, you know.”

“I’m worried about me too. My support system seems to have crashed.”

“Stop. You can yell at me when you’re feeling better.”

“Could you ask Becca to call John and let him know what happened? He’s already going to lose it over this but I wouldn’t want to be the person on the receiving end of his temper if he isn’t notified immediately. He doesn’t know you so it would be best if Becca was the one to contact him.”

“Am I invisible or something? I’m right here,” Becca said, tying off the final suture. “I’ll take care of it while I’m waiting for everyone to do their fucking jobs!” She yelled loud enough that everyone could hear her and begin shaking in their boots.

The woman began to leave the room but paused when Sherlock called out to her.

“Could you…could you call Mycroft from here?” Sherlock said, embarrassed that he was afraid to be alone now.

The woman said, “Absolutely,” and took a nearby chair. She lifted her phone again.

“Hey,” Sherlock said.

“Hey yourself.”

“Thank you for being here, Irene.”

Leaning over and placing a gentle kiss on his cheek, Irene said, “You’re more than welcome, darling.” She mentally prepared herself for the barrage of questions and anger that she was about to be subjected to, and pressed ‘send.’

Mycroft picked up on the first ring. And, as predicted, he wasn’t happy.

Irene made herself comfortable and settled in for a long and threatening rant.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bet you were wondering where the hell Irene has been all this time. Surprise!


	24. Evil Deeds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John prepare for the bonding ritual but someone has other plans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your patience.
> 
> Just some edits, not a new chapter...yet...

***

John and Becca stood outside of Sherlock’s room watching as the nurse and anesthesiologist prepped Sherlock for his relocation to the breeding room. 

A Certified Sedation Registered Nurse would inject Sherlock with just enough sedation so that he would be comfortable as he was moved. Becca basically wanted him to fall asleep in one room and awake in another. 

Becca was paying particular attention to the anesthesiologist as he readied the syringes used for the nerve blocks in Sherlock’s right arm. She’d ordered the blocks used in three places to ensure that Sherlock wouldn’t feel a thing in, and couldn’t move his arm during mating. 

She could have ordered a block on just his hand but this way, his entire arm would be numb so he couldn’t move anything, accidentally or otherwise.

If Sherlock’s hand didn’t heal properly, he’d no longer be able to play the violin which was necessary for his mental health. He needed a way to relax that busy brain of his. If the mating wasn’t vital to Sherlock’s recovery, she’d never have permitted this to occur so quickly. 

The anesthesiologist, Doctor Richardson, had started the three IVs, each with a syringe containing the numbing medication, ready to be pushed. The nurse, Sharon, had just finished filling the syringe with the sedation and was ready to push it into Sherlock’s main IV. 

Becca had written a specific order in which the injections were to be given. The sedation was to be given prior to the nerve blocks. The numbing medication, Lidocaine, caused a burning sensation that was extremely painful as it began working. Becca wanted to spare Sherlock as much pain as possible.

The injections were about to begin and Becca was intently following the order in which they being were given. It really shouldn’t require her undivided attention. She’d already discussed how to proceed with the professionals involved. And yet…something bothered her but she couldn’t place her finger on it. It would come to her.

“I’m sorry?” Becca asked when she realized that John had been talking the entire time she’d been watching the proceedings and she hadn’t registered anything else.

“I said; why are you watching the prep with such a worried look?”

Becca turned away from the activity going on in Sherlock’s room and gave her full attention to John.

“It’s nothing, really,” she said.

“That doesn’t exactly give me a vote of confidence. What are worried about?” 

“It’s just…that’s not the original anesthesiologist who was supposed to do the blocks.”

“Wait. Are you saying that you don’t know him?!” John was instantly worried.

“No. No. I know him. Doctor Richardson is an excellent anesthesiologist, I just don’t like a change in doctors right before a procedure is about to take place. Especially one where the timing is critical. I could have just had Sherlock sedated and then moved to the Clean Room…”

“I wish you’d stop calling it that. It sounds so cold and clinical,” John interrupted.

“What would you prefer that I call it?”

John thought for a minute.

“I got nothing,” he said with a sheepish smile. “You were saying?”

Becca returned the smile but it was half-hearted; she was still worried.

“Did you go over everything with the doctor first?” John asked.

“Yes. As soon as Doctor Richardson arrived. We went over the orders and everything seemed good to go.”

“But?”

“It’s just…he seems familiar…” Becca said.

“Well, he works here so of course he looks familiar. You said yourself that he’s a terrific doctor. I don’t understand why you’re so concerned,” John said. Despite the logic of what he was saying, Becca’s nervousness had rubbed off on him and now his worry was escalating. 

They could hear Sharon and Doctor Richardson talking in the background, their voices hushed.

“I just want everything to go smoothly,” Becca finished lamely.

“I haven’t known you very long but this seems out of character for you. You’re normally so confident.”

“I am, aren’t I?” She smiled at John.

Just then, the bell announcing the arrival of the lift sounded and two orderlies walked out, headed in their direction.

“Let’s follow Sherlock down, shall we?” Becca said.

As they headed into Sherlock’s room, they heard a scream of agony. John pushed past everyone without hesitation or courtesy, in his hurry to get to Sherlock’s side.

“What’s wrong, love?” John said, brushing Sherlock’s curls, now damp with perspiration, back from his forehead.

“John…John, I don’t feel right. My arm! It’s on fire!” Sherlock said, blindly reaching out with his left hand towards John.

“What the fuck is going on?!” John demanded. “This wasn’t supposed to happen!”

“The doctor changed the order of the injections,” the nurse said, looking accusingly at the anesthesiologist. 

“You must have misunderstood me,” Doctor Richardson said haughtily.

“No. I didn’t. I even confirmed with you that you were altering Doctor Grant’s orders as written. You said that she’d made a last minute decision to reverse her instructions,” Sharon said indignantly.

Sherlock was barely coherent now, random words leaving his mouth.

“It burns. It burns! John. Please! Make it stop. I’ll do whatever you want just, please make it stop,” he sobbed, tears leaking from his closed eyes.

“It’s no big deal. He must have a low tolerance for pain. The burning only lasts a few minutes anyhow. He can just wait it out like all of the other patients do,” Doctor Richardson said unapologetically. 

“Why are you waiting?! Push the fucking sedation NOW!!” John cried.

By then, Becca had already taken the syringe from the nurse’s hand and pushed the sedation slowly, as was procedure. Sherlock quieted instantly as if a light had been turned out. 

Becca was inwardly seething, trying to hold her temper in check. She’d finally recognized the doctor. He was a regular patron of B-Club and a favorite of Chris’. It seemed that all of Mycroft’s security couldn’t protect his brother from attacks from the hospital. She’d deal with this as soon as John left.

“I’m sorry, Doctor Grant. I should have double checked with you as soon as your orders were changed,” the nurse said, eyes downcast.

“Yes. You should have. But I’ll be holding Doctor Richardson responsible for this. He was in charge and you were following the direction of the senior physician in the room. However,” Becca caught Sharon’s gaze and held it. “In the future, no changes are to be made without running them by me first and getting my approval.”

“Yes, doctor. I’m so sorry.”

“I know. Just…go grab dinner or something while I clean up this mess,” Becca said, giving Richardson an angry look. 

“What now? Shouldn’t we postpone mating until Sherlock’s recovered from this?” John asked.

“No. This has to happen sooner rather than later. Just follow the orderlies down and I’ll be with you as soon as I’ve spoken to Doctor Richardson about his…poor judgement. Why. It borders on incompetency, doesn’t it?” Becca finished, looking at the doctor through narrowed eyes.

“I’m the Director of Anesthesiology and your superior. You have no right to talk to me this way! Rest assured that I’ll be going to the board about this!”

“Oh. Good. And I’m sure that you’re aware that Sherlock’s brother, Mycroft, sits on the board. At the head, if I’m not mistaken. And he’s been a very generous benefactor to the hospital. I believe that he funded the most recent building going up on campus. I know he’d be very interested in what you have to say.” Becca said, smiling sweetly at Richardson.

Doctor Richardson paled.

“Oh my. Forgot that, did you? Hmm…my my, how embarrassing for you!”

Becca turned back to John.

“John. You go ahead with Sherlock to the Clean Room and I’ll be down shortly to discuss the next step prior to completing the bond.”

“If you’re sure…” John said hesitantly. 

“I am,” Becca said, giving him a reassuring smile. “I just need to have a discussion with Doctor Dick over here,” she said, gesturing with her middle finger at the doctor whose face became even redder.

“Ok,” John said, removing Sherlock’s now lax hand from his wrist and placing it gently beside him.

“This won’t take long,” Becca said, eyes still on Richardson.

John stepped back so that the orderlies could release the brakes on the bed and began pushing Sherlock towards the lift. He stopped and turned to look at Becca and asked;

“How long will the sedation last?”

“We have plenty of time. Don’t worry. It’ll be ok, John. I’m right behind you.”

John nodded and headed to the lift where the orderlies were holding the door for him. 

The orderlies expressions hadn’t changed once during the entire commotion. It was as if they hadn’t heard a thing. John was grateful for their professionalism. 

Stepping in, he turned to face the closing doors. Missing the orderlies looking at each other, eyebrows raised. 

They were professionals, yes, but that didn’t mean that they didn’t talk about all of the intrigues going on at the hospital. Usually it was just the latest affair or who was skimming narcotics off the the terminal patients pain meds. Some fucked up shit was going on with this patient though and they couldn’t wait to tell everyone.

***

Becca went on the attack as soon as the lift doors had shut.

“Just what the fuck do you think you were doing?!”

“So, he had a little pain. It didn’t last long and now he’s sleeping like a baby,” Richardson said carelessly. He’d had a chance to collect himself and seemed the confident prick once again.

“Look. I don’t know what kind of arrangement you have with Chris but I care about my patients and I won’t have you endangering them just so you can get your cock sucked. You tell Chris to keep his little games out of my workplace. It had better not happen again, Dick, because if it does, well, I’ll quit my job with Chris and crush his business the best way I know how: financially. You got that?” 

“I’m not your messenger boy. Tell him yourself!”

“No. See. You fucked up. Sure, Chris might give you free ass in exchange for what you’ve done here today but I know your dirty little secrets and I have no problem leaking that information out on the hospital grapevine. I’d start toeing the line, if I were you.” Becca finished, giving Richardson one of her rarely seen psychotic smiles, and although he didn’t let it show, and he was suddenly afraid.

“You don’t know a thing!” Richardson bluffed.

“Try me,” Becca said, turning to leave, then turned back around.

“Oh, and you might want to use this opportunity to quit stealing drugs from the dispensary…”

“I don’t steal drugs!”

“Yes, you do. I’ve let it go on because it hasn’t affected my patients but I’m not feeling quite as magnanimous anymore.” Becca turned, once more heading for the lift.

Richardson watched Becca’s retreating back, speechless.

Pausing, Becca didn’t turn around this time, just stood with her back to Richardson, and said;

“If you have any other lackeys here doing your dirty work, it’d be in your best interest to nip that in the bud right now before I nip it for you. Oh, and…” Becca turned her head slightly and, without looking at Richardson, put the final nail in his coffin.

“You might want to bring back those anal speculums and that endoscopy fiber optic scope before someone finds out that they’re missing - which I can assure you will happen should you try any of this shit again. Who need four speculums, honestly.”

Finally reaching the lift, the doors magically opening as if they’d been expecting her, Becca gave a final warning.

“Don’t make me fuck you up, Doctor Dick. You don’t want to end up in A&E having a speculum removed from your arse.” 

The doors slid closed, and, shoulders slumping, Richardson took out his mobile and hit the button to speed dial Chris.

“Yeah. Chris? I can’t help you anymore. Why? That Becca bitch is crazy and I’m very fond of my balls.”

Richardson hit the ‘off’ button and put the mobile back into his pocket. So he liked to inject morphine into his cock sometimes. Big deal. No one would believe her anyhow. 

He began dragging himself back to his office, depressed and wondering how things had gone so incredibly wrong in such a short amount of time. Maybe a shot - or two - of morphine would help. 

Doctor Richardson smiled and turned to make a stop at the dispensary to pick up the morphine and some extra insulin syringes. Things were looking up. 

***

The hospital had two rooms available in the maternity ward where Alpha/Beta/Omega mating could take place. Although the room had it’s own isolated return air supply and was sealed against mating pheromones escaping, as well as being sound proof, the future mates still had to get into the room first which meant that an Omega in heat could drive a regular ward into a frenzy just by walking down the corridor. The rooms were located in the maternity ward for that very reason. 

Mated Alphas being immune to any Omega in heat, other than their own, would not become aggressive should they scent another Omega in heat. There were potential problems with visitors, of course, so the future mates were escorted to their room after visiting hours were over. Although is was unlikely that an Omega in heat would be in the maternity ward, it had happened one time too many so unmated Alpha medical personal were also denied access to the maternity ward. 

Three days had passed since Sherlock had been attacked in his room. Becca had wanted to wait until Sherlock had healed as much as he was able before trying to complete the bond with John. A lot of energy was expended during mating and although John would be doing most of the work, Sherlock was the only one who could seal the bond with a bite to the mating gland in John’s neck. 

By the third day, Becca told John that the improvement in Sherlock’s condition was as good as it was going to get, so they should proceed. His re-opened head wound was a raw, jagged thing that was painful to look at. Becca had put in triple the amount of the original stitches to piece everything back together. She’d made the stitches as small as possible in an attempt to minimize scarring but the fact was that Sherlock and John needed to complete the bonding for real healing to begin. Without it, it could possibly take Sherlock years to get over this physically and mentally, and even then he’d never be 100% without John as his mate.

Becca stopped at the Clean Room where Sherlock was sleeping peacefully; thank god. She watched as John stood over Sherlock, looking at him longingly. She hated to interrupt him but they needed to get started; Sherlock wasn’t going to sleep forever. 

Speaking in a low tone of voice, she asked;

“Do you know what your part is?”

Giving Becca an ironic look, John replied;

“I think it’ll come back to me.”

“But do you really KNOW what to do? Have you ever had sex with an Alpha before?”

John looked at Becca and then back to where Sherlock lay, looking pale and vulnerable. 

“Well, I’m no expert but I HAVE had sex with one Alpha,” John nodded towards Sherlock, “so I’m pretty sure I can remember how it goes.” 

“Have you been reading up on the procedure?” Becca asked seriously.

“‘Procedure?’ I had no idea you were such a romantic, Becca,” John said, treading the line between observation and sarcasm. 

“I’m a scientist, John. To me, this IS a procedure so I’ll ask you again; have you done your research?” 

“If you’re asking if I looked it up on the internet, the answer is yes. It seems pretty straight forward. I penetrate Sherlock and when he’s about to orgasm, he bites me. I have this handy dandy pheromone roll on,” John patted his pocket, “that you gave me to ensure that Sherlock is able to become properly aroused. I’d say I’m ready. What?” John asked when Becca only stood there, mouth hanging open and staring at him in amazement.

“I think that you’ve missed an important detail, John.”

“I know what I’m doing,” John said condescendingly. 

“Clearly, you don’t,” Becca said matter of factly.

“Well, enlighten me then. What could I possibly have wrong? Pheromone, erection, penetration, orgasm, and while we’re knotted, Sherlock bites me. It’s pretty simple.”

“Ok. No. I mean, yes, that’s the basic procedure.”

“But…?”

“Who do you think is doing the penetrating, John?”

“Easy. I am. I’m the Alpha,” John said confidently.

“Oh. John. John. John. John. Sherlock’s an Alpha too. Remember?”

“So?”

Becca walked closer to John, placed a hand on his shoulder and said;

“So, you know that knotting is required to complete the mating for an Alpha, right?” Becca asked, then looked at John waiting to see if the light was coming on for him yet. When he continued to stand there, staring at her as if she was the one confused, she said;

“You’ve already knotted and bitten Sherlock.”

“That’s how this started. Yes. And?”

“John. I swear. Are you being intentionally obtuse?” Becca said, suddenly exasperated.

“You obviously think I’m missing a key detail so why don’t you just tell me what it is?” 

Letting go of John’s shoulder, Becca put her index finger in the middle of his forehead and tapped it, hard.

“Think, Doctor.”

“We really don’t have time…”

“We’re making the time, John. Sherlock won’t be able to go through this again for at least three more days. Bonding will take a lot out of him.”

“I realize that. What’s your point?”

“God! You’re exasperating!” Becca huffed. Taking a deep breath, she said;

“The Alpha who’s closing the bond, penetrates his partner and as soon as the Alpha is orgasming, their knot inflates, locking them together. The Alpha then bites his future bond mate, drawing blood, licks the wound to heal it and they remain locked together waiting for the Alpha’s knot to deflate. The bond is then complete. Do you get it now?” Becca stood looking at John expectantly. “Well? Do you?”

“But I already did that…” John started.

Becca rubbed her temples, “You’re giving me a migraine, Doctor Watson. You’re a brilliant doctor, how can you be so dumb in this area?”

“I’m not dumb!” John said indignantly.

“Could have fooled me. THINK! If you’ve already knotted Sherlock and bitten him, then…”

“Oh,” John said in a small voice.

“Yes. ‘Oh.’”

“Are you saying that…that Sherlock now has to penetrate me to complete the bond?” John asked nervously.

“There you go! I knew you’d get there! When two Alphas mate in a homosexual relationship, BOTH Alphas must knot each other for the bond to take effect. Since you’ve already done your part, it’s Sherlock’s turn. Close your mouth before you swallow a fly, John. Questions?”

“I’d read that but I must have skimmed that last bit.”

“Oh my god! John!” Becca exclaimed.

“What?” John asked worriedly.

“Don’t tell me that you’ve never been penetrated before!”

“Of course I have. Just not…by an Alpha.” John lied.

“Well, you’re in for a treat! All that Alpha knot just for you! I’ll bet you’re excited now, aren’t you?”

“I’m something, alright. I don’t know that I’d call it excited, exactly.”

“You’ll be fine! Come on. Walk with me,” Becca said, walking away without turning to see if John followed her.

“Where are we going?”

“To the prep room in the maternity ward, of course! Hurry up, we don’t have all day.” 

“What’s in the prep room?” John asked suspiciously.

“Well, an Alpha’s penis is quite large, but,” and here Becca glanced down at John’s crotch, “But I guess you already know that.”

“Yes. I’m aware. Thank you,” John said.

“You don’t think that you’ll be able to handle a penis, particularly and Alpha’s penis, without some preparation, do you?”

“I hadn’t thought…I didn’t realize…”

“Nope. You didn’t. Ah, here we are!” Becca said as they reached the door labeled ‘Prep Room.’

“Are there, ah…aids so that I can get myself ready?”

“Oh, I’ll help you with that, John,” Becca said happily, already opening the door.

“I think that I can handle that part myself!” John said indignantly.

Becca turned and gave him a considering look, “You have no idea what you’re doing, John. You’re going to need all the help that you can get.”

“I know how to have intercourse!”

“You didn’t know much about it ten minutes ago,” Becca said, and opened the door.

“After you,” she said, gesturing John to go in ahead of her.

They entered a room set up with an exam table, stirrups open and waiting.

“Ok. Take your pants off and hop up,” Becca said, patting the butcher paper covering the table and gave John a smile that told him that she was enjoying this a little too much.

John just stood and stared unblinking, at the table.

“Awe! You poor thing! Are you shy? We’re both doctors and you’re a veteran, for god’s sake. Being nude shouldn’t be a big deal and I’m only asking for the bottom half. You don’t have to do a thing but lay there while I get everything ready.”

“I’m not shy. I’m concerned. I have no idea what you think that you’re going to do to me.”

“I don’t THINK that I’m going to do anything to you. I KNOW that I’m going to do something to you and you’ll thank me later,” she said, giving him a crocodile smile full of teeth.

“I want to know what you plan to do and I’m not going to disrobe right here in front of you. I want a…oof!” John’s breath left him in a rush as Becca threw something at him. He looked down at what he was clutching to his chest.

“A gown. I know. Baby wants a gown. There’s the loo, get those pants and trousers off and get back here. Opening goes in the back. Don’t dawdle. ”

“I know where it goes and who says ‘dawdle’ anymore,” John grumbled under his breath, closing the door to the loo behind him.

“What’s taking so long, John?”

“I just got in here! Give me a minute! It’s missing a tie. I can’t close it.” John groused.

“No matter. You’ll be laying on your back anyhow. Come out, come out wherever you are!”

John stepped out of the loo, hand clutching the back of the robe to keep it from opening.

“Table, please.”

“I know. Wait a damned minute!” John said, sitting on the table.

“Lay down, please,” Becca said.

“No,” John said.

“No? Are we going to do this or not?” Becca asked cheerfully.

“God, I hate how perky you are!” John said, annoyed.

“Awe. Come on. It won’t be so bad, I’ve done this hundreds of times. Now. Lay. Down.”

John lay down but instead of putting his feet in the stirrups, he dangled them over the end of the table.

“Feet in the stirrups, John.” Becca said, looking at him as if he were an adorable child.

“I think I have some candy over here. Put your feet up and I’ll give you a nice lolly! Won’t that be nice!”

“I hate you,” John said.

“No you don’t. Get a move on, John. We don’t have all day.

John, reluctantly placed his feet in the stirrups, feeling uncomfortably exposed. He didn’t like this. He didn’t like this one bit.

Becca, went to the medical cabinet and John could hear what sounded like plastic wrap rustling. He could hear the sound of gloves being snapped as she put them on and John’s knees immediately snapped shut as well.

“Tell me what you’re going to do and we’ll see if what I’ll agree to, if any, of it.”

Becca still had her back to John and appeared to be putting something together. She turned around holding a large cylindrical object in her hand. It was coated generously with lubricant. She looked at his knees tightly closed together and laughed.

“You know, you can keep your knees together all you want but I’ll still be able to access your anus. If it makes you feel better, then, by all means, keep them closed. You big baby.” Becca set the cylinder down and put a hand on one of John’s knees.

“Open up and say ‘ah’!” 

Becca leaned in and, without warning, surprised John by inserting a lubed finger into his anus all the way to the third knuckle.

“Oi!” 

“What? You’re being ridiculous, John. You have to be dilated before we proceed,” She said, inserting a second and third finger along with the first. 

“Ow! You bitch!”

“Temper, temper. You’re really not in a position to irritate your doctor now, are you John?” 

“Just…You didn’t need to be so rough!” John exclaimed.

“We don’t have time for romance, John,” she said, inserting a forth finger without warning.

“Jesus! Are you trying to get your fist in there?!”

Becca paused and gave him a considering look.

“Stop. No. I was joking,” John said nervously.

“Maybe another time,” she said, withdrawing her fingers all at once. 

She turned and picked up the cylinder and presented it to John with a flourish.

“Have you ever had a colonic, John? No? Ok, here comes the airplane!!” And bent to her task.

“FUCK!! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK!!! Did you have to ram it home all at once?!”

“Well, no. I guess I didn’t but wasn’t it exciting?!” Becca said happily. She turned, flipped some switches and began filling John with water.

“I’m dying…” John moaned.

“You’ll be fine,” Becca said, patting his stomach.

“We have about twenty minutes to kill while this is running. Let’s talk!” Becca said, leaning her elbow on John’s knee and resting her chin in her hand.

“I swear, when all of this is over, I’m going to kill you. Slowly…”

“Well, that was predictable,” Becca said, rocking his knees back and forth.

“Get off me!”

“No can do! Tell me a story.”

“You’re insane!”

“Bzzt! Wrong answer!” Becca stopped rocking and pushed a hand down on John’s abdomen causing him to cramp.

“Fucking hell!”

“Story, John!” Becca said, walking her fingers along John’s abdomen in what was clearly a threat.

“Once upon a time…” John began. He really was going to kill her when this was over.


	25. Tender Mercies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock finally get together with mutual consent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the delay, guys! I just haven't been motivated. Then I looked at all of the subscriptions and bookmarks for this fic and decided to get my ass in gear and post the mating chapter. I know! Finally!
> 
> This was another all nighter and the usual warnings apply. I haven't done any edits, hell, I haven't even read it myself! Hopefully, it makes sense. I fully plan on going through it when I'm not delirious from lack of sleep. It's just that you all have been so patient and I wanted to put something out there so that you didn't give up on the fic.
> 
> I think it's almost over so: YAY!!

***

Leaving the Prep Room, John walked slowly and with some discomfort, to the Clean Room. Clutching the exam gown together behind him - Becca refused to give him his clothes back and had actually made him remove his vest and jumper saying;

“You’re going to have to take it all off anyway. Now all you’ll have to do is whip that silly gown off and hop on pop!” She gave him the kind of smile that made him question her sanity. Then it was gone and she was all business.

They entered Sherlock’s room together, Becca moving in front of John before he could take another step. 

“God. What now? I’m not letting you near my arse again! My anus is so loose at this point that I’m afraid to sit for fear of needing assistance standing up so my intestines aren’t sucked out!”

“God, John. I had no idea you were so funny!” Becca laughed.

“I’m not trying to be funny,” John fumed. 

“Huh. In that case, grow a pair and stop being such a drama queen,” Becca said, reaching into her pocket and pulling out the pheromone roll on that she’d given John.

“You forgot this,” Becca said, wiggling in back and forth in front of John’s face.

“I had no were to put it.”

Becca put her hand over her mouth to cover her snort of laughter then she began to say something but was interrupted by John before she could get one word out.

“Don’t say it. Just. Give me that!” John said, reaching for the roll on which Becca instantly pulled back.

“No. I’ll do it. I’m not sure you’ll use it properly. Especially given how uninformed you’ve been through all of this.”

There was that disturbing smile again. It was positively creepy.

“Fine. I don’t have the strength to fight you anymore, just do whatever needs to be done and get out,” John snarled.

“Ok. Go to the bed and put your hands on the end and bend over.”

“What? No! I’m not doing that!”

“But, John! Don’t you want a successful mating?!” Becca asked sweetly.

“You told me yourself that that’s a highly concentrated version of…”

“Pheromones? Slick? Hard on in a jar?” 

“Ugh. There’s no reason to get near my arse with that!”

“Well, pooh,” Becca sighed, defeated. “I was just trying to see how far you’d go. You’re no fun. No fun at all. Here,” she said, offering the roll on. “Just a thin coating over your scent gland will be enough to get things moving.” Becca stood looking at John expectantly.

“What?”

“Aren’t you going to use it?” Becca asked.

“You must be having me on. This isn’t a spectator sport! Get out!”

“But…what if you need help?”

“I won’t.”

“But you might…”

“I’ll manage somehow.”

“I could give you pointers from the sidelines!”

“Get. The. FUCK! OUT!” John bellowed.

“Fine. Fine. I’m going. Sheesh. You’re such a child, John!”

John waited until the door closed and then walked to the side of the bed and studied Sherlock. There were purple shadows beneath his eyes and he was pale. So pale. John wondered if they’d given him enough blood to replace what he’d lost during the attack. 

He was still amazed at how quickly he’d fallen for this man. It was crazy. John didn’t believe in love at first sight, and yet he loved this man. 

“John?” Sherlock asked as he slowly opened his eyes.

“Yes, love. I’m here. How are you feeling?”

“I don’t know. Strange. I had a nightmare. I dreamed that I was on fire and I called for you but couldn’t find you,” Sherlock whispered, a tear slowly running down one cheek.

“Shh…that was just a dream,” John lied. “I’m here now,” John said, wiping the tear away with his thumb.

“Where am I? This doesn’t look familiar,” Sherlock looked around the room and then his eyes met John’s.

“They’ve moved you to the Clean…a room where we can finish mating in peace.”

“No, John. I told you. I won’t force you to tie yourself to me. I appreciate what you’re trying to do for me, but it’s unnecessary. I’ll be fine.” The color had come back into Sherlock’s cheeks and he was the most animated that John had seen him since he’d been brought to hospital.

“You’re needlessly upsetting yourself.” John said, gently running the back of his knuckles gently across one sharply defined cheekbone. The man was gorgeous. 

“You don’t even know me…” Sherlock began but John cut him off.

“I know all I need to know. You’re smart, well, not right now, but normally. You’re kind…” 

Sherlock snorted.

“You are. It might not be intentional but the results are the same,” John said, smiling down at Sherlock.

“This. This isn’t me, John. I’m not this fragile, weepy person. I’m arrogant. Sarcastic to the point of being cruel. I don’t suffer fools gladly. Why would you want to tie yourself to someone like that?” 

“Because I want to. That and I seem to have fallen in love with you.”

“Preposterous.”

“You feel it too. I know you do.”

Sherlock bit his lip then said, “Hormones. That’s all it is. You accidentally bit me and now you feel guilty and think you need to make it up to me. You don’t. I’m fine…”

“You’re far from fine. And, yes, I feel guilty but not about the bite. Not really. Being tricked into raping you? Yes. I’ll never forgive myself for that. Every time I think of it, my heart sinks down into my shoes. I’m so ashamed.” John finished, and looked away.

“Don’t. Don’t do that.”

“I can’t help it,” John said sadly.

“You are as much victim as I am. I don’t hold that against you. We were both drugged and the room was swimming in Omega pheromones. Neither of us had control of the situation. Forgive yourself, I already have.”

“I won’t let that bastard, Chris, get away with this,” John said angrily.

“I didn’t think that you would,” Sherlock said, smiling.

“I’m no prize either but I think that there’s enough positive qualities between us to make one good person. I need you. I want you. I love you. Sherlock, will you mate with me?”

“John. You’re a romantic!”

“That I am.” 

“Although I feel better than I have since I got here, I’m not really in any condition to mate with you.”

“I think that Becca might have upped your meds for this.”

“This should be the standard dose. I feel more like myself. I’m positively giddy,” Sherlock said, laughing.

“I’m beginning to think that she might have slipped you a mood enhancer too and that’s something that can’t continue. Just enjoy it while you can.”

“I intend to. What’s that in your hand?” Sherlock asked, inclining his head slightly to indicate the container in John’s hand.

“This? Becca gave me this to, um…get us in the mood.”

“Is it that Omega pheromone that she loves so much?”

“It is…wait. I just found out about it since we’ve been here and you’ve been out of it the entire time. How do you know about that?”

“I must have…heard her talking about it,” Sherlock lied.

“Seems unlikely,” John said suspiciously.

“Why are you wearing an exam gown?” Sherlock asked, changing the subject before John could interrogate him any further. There’s no way that John knew that Becca was involved in the plot. Sherlock was pretty sure that she’d be in the room next to his had he known. Better to leave that one alone and let him keep his focus on Chris.”

“Becca.”

“Ah. Foolish question.”

John began removing the cap from the bottle then peeled the protective covering off of the applicator. The room was suddenly filled with Omega pheromones and John’s cock instantly sprang to life. Sliding the artificial slick against his neck, he capped the bottle and placed it on Sherlock’s nightstand. 

John leaned over and kissed Sherlock softly on the lips. Rubbing his nose against Sherlock’s, he said, “I want you.”

“I suddenly seem to want you too. Desperately,” Sherlock said, glancing down at the tent his cock had pitched in his blanket.

“Same,” John said gesturing to his groin where his gown was pushed out obscenely by his hard on. 

John watched as Sherlock’s eyes dilated. He gave John a smoldering look and said;

“What now, Doctor?”

“I think that an exam might be in order,” John said, giving Sherlock a lecherous grin.

“Really? Where do you plan to start?” Sherlock said breathlessly.

“Why, at the root of the problem, of course.” John slowly pulled the blanket back, lifted Sherlock’s gown to reveal his large, Alpha cock.

“What’s your diagnosis?”

“That’s some impressive swelling that you have.” John said as he wrapped his hand around Sherlock’s cock and gave it a slight squeeze causing Sherlock to thrust his hips up as he sighed in pleasure.

“Is it? Any suggestions on how to, uh…handle the situation?

“A few,” John said as he leaned over and slid open the drawer in the bedside table. Several packets of surgical grade lube were patiently waiting to be used. 

Grabbing one, John warmed the packet in his hand until the gel inside had reached body temperature. Then he brought the packet to his mouth and ripped it open with his teeth. 

Sherlock moaned. If he’d been able to get out of this bed, he would have already had John bent over, with his cock buried deep inside of him.

“John. Hurry. Please.” Sherlock begged.

“Be patient, love. I’m preparing your treatment,” John said, then began squeezing the packet onto his index finger which he then brought to his lips.

“What are you doing?” Sherlock’s curiosity and cock warring with each other.

But John didn’t reply. He began coating his lips, somehow sensuously, with the lube, adding more from the packet until it was empty. Binning the packet, John pursed his lips and slid his lubed finger into his mouth, the pulled it slowly back out.

“I have no idea what’s going on. And why this seems sexy as hell, is beyond me.”

Reaching down and grasping Sherlock’s cock once more, John bent over and began pressing kisses against the silky head of Sherlock’s cock. 

John looked into Sherlock’s eyes, and placing one last kiss, slid his glistening lips around Sherlock’s cock until he’d swallowed him down to the root. 

Sherlock threw his head back and groaned. 

“Oh my god! What? I don’t know…” Sherlock was babbling now, his excitement causing John’s cock to swell even more.

Gripping Sherlock’s now well lubed cock in his left hand, John began sucking and pumping in earnest. 

“You’re amazing. Amazing! Amazing! I’ve never… It’s…John! I’m going to come! Oh god! I’m coming!”

John suckled and licked Sherlock’s cock head while he continued with smooth, firm strokes along the shaft until felt Sherlock’s body begin to tense.

Thrusting his fingers into John’s hair, Sherlock lifted his hips and came in quick, short bursts down John’s throat.

Swallowing, John released Sherlock’s cock and wiped his lips until all traces of lube had been removed. He stood up and gave Sherlock a huge grin.

“Better?” John asked.

“Much. How did you think of that? That was incredible!”

“I have a very vivid imagination,” John said, grinning. 

“Indeed. I wish I could reciprocate but I seem to be tied down at the moment. Rain check?”

“Definitely,” John said, grabbing another packet of lube from the drawer, ripping it open with his teeth. As he began coating his index finger, Sherlock asked;

“What are you doing now?” 

“Phase two,” John said, throwing the packet onto the table top.

“What’s ‘phase two?”

“Well, it’s a very delicate procedure which involves lifting your uninjured leg just so,” John said as he moved Sherlock’s good leg up until his foot was flat on the bed.

“And then?” Sherlock asked, tingling with nervous excitement.

Spreading Sherlock’s cheeks with the fingers of his right hand, John placed his finger against Sherlock’s tight ring of muscle, almost, but not quite, entering him.

“Prostate exam,” Johns said, sliding his finger slowly home. Finding Sherlock’s prostate on the first try, he brushed his finger lightly across it. Once. Twice. Three times.

“I don’t think I can take much more of this!” Sherlock panted, pressing his head against the pillows.

“Yes, you can. You still have to fuck me and bite me. Remember?” John eased his finger out slowly causing Sherlock to shudder, then pressed back in. 

“Enough, John! Enough! I need to fuck you. Now!” 

Removing his finger completely, John picked up the packet of lube, squeezing a generous amount onto Sherlock’s already hard cock.

Dropping the empty packet into the bin along with it’s companion, John tapped Sherlock’s knee indicating that he should slide his leg back down onto the bed.

As John began to get onto the bed, he became entangled in his hospital gown, ripped it off impatiently, he gently maneuvered himself until he was straddling Sherlock’s hips.

“Inside you. Put me inside of you,” Sherlock said feverishly. 

Leaning forward, John placed the head of Sherlock’s cock against his entrance and slowly slid down until it was buried inside of him to the hilt. Placing a hand on either side of Sherlock’s hips, John began moving up and down, each thrust making them both moan in pleasure.

“Kiss me. Kiss me, John,” Sherlock begged, John obliging him gladly.

Having gotten Sherlock’s first orgasm out of the way, they were able to take their time, unhurriedly working themselves closer and closer to climax.

They were kissing again when John felt Sherlock’s knot begin to swell inside of him.

Tightening around Sherlock’s cock, John pressed close to Sherlock’s lips and whispered, “Come for me, Sherlock. Come inside of me. Now.”

Giving one brutal thrust upwards, Sherlock’s knot swelled until they were locked together and then he was coming. Moaning, Sherlock instinctually licked over the mating gland in John’s neck before sinking his teeth into into it until he drew blood, triggering John’s orgasm. 

They lay together in the afterglow, Sherlock gently licking the bite wound in John’s neck closed, waiting for Sherlock’s knot to deflate. 

John was fidgeting, trying to find a comfortable position without putting pressure on Sherlock’s damaged body. Finally accepting that it was hopeless, he braced his arms against the mattress and patiently waited for Sherlock’s knot to go down far enough to allow them to disconnect from each other.

“I love you, too,” Sherlock said.

“What?”

“Earlier, you told me that you loved me so I was just responding in kind,” Sherlock said, without a trace of irony.

As soon as he was able, John climbed gingerly over Sherlock and out of the bed. His legs wobbling a bit from being in one position for so long. 

“We’re mated,” John said, a little stunned by that fact.

“Yes. I was there, John.”

“That was a tad snarky. Feeling better, are we?”

“It was a fact, nothing more, nothing less.”

“Whatever you say,” John said, smiling broadly.

“Why are you smiling like that? You look foolish.”

“I’m just happy.”

“About what?”

“Well, you seem to be on the road to recovery and you’re all mine.”

“I’m not your property, John,” Sherlock said primly.

“Yes you are.”

“No. I’m not. I’m my own person,” Sherlock huffed.

“You’re my person too.”

“I refuse to continue this illogical conversation with you.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Now you’re being annoying just for the sake of it.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Ugh! Why are you…” Sherlock froze at the sound of the door to the room opening.

“Christ. It’s her,” John muttered, grabbing the hospital gown from the floor, putting it on just as the door opened and Becca’s face peering inside.

“You should have locked the door, John! What if it hadn’t been me? Wouldn’t that have been embarrassing!”

“Why are you here? What earth shattering news do you have that couldn’t wait?” John asked tiredly. 

“Oh. I was just wondering how it went. Did everyone finish?” Becca asked eagerly?

“I’m going to kill her,” John said to Sherlock.

“I’ll hold her down,” Sherlock replied.

“Ooh! What a lovely bite mark! Good job, Sherlock!”

“Soon,” said John.

“Soon,” agreed Sherlock.


	26. The Thickened Plot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of bonding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was afraid that I wouldn't be able to get this past a thousand words but then everyone started talking and, well, you know how these characters are.
> 
> As is traditional: Not alpha'd, beta'd, spell checked, it's the 'as is' Debbie Special that you're all so familiar with. Hopefully, it makes sense at least. :D
> 
> Thank you so much for your patience. You guys rule!!

Becca walked over to the check the monitors that were attached to Sherlock.

“Time for pain meds,” she said to him.

“I don’t need any pain meds. That last concoction that you gave me is still working,” Sherlock snapped.

“It’s about to wear off,” Becca said, tapping one well manicured nail against the device tracking his heart rate which was rapidly picking up.

“My heart rate is fine. That’s what happens when you’re involved in strenuous activity; your heart rate increases. Must I tell you your job “doctor”?” Sherlock gave Becca a withering look.

“Look how upset he is when he doesn’t get his way. He’s just adorable!” Becca patted his shoulder which Sherlock immediately shrugged away.

John glanced over at Sherlock’s vitals then turned to look at Sherlock. His lips were pinched together so tightly that the blood had all but left them. The shadows beneath his eyes had darkened and he was dangerously pale.

“Sherlock. Listen to the doctor.”

“You’re my doctor and my mate, not my manager. I can take care of myself!” Sherlock shouted but finished with a grimace.

This didn’t phase John one whit. He was an emergency room doc after all. People had fits like this every day. Sherlock might not realize that the pain was increasing but if they waited much longer, he’d have to take a bigger dose to get it under control.

“You’re getting the meds, Sherlock. That’s all there is to it,” John said, folding his arms across his chest and staring down at Sherlock whose mouth now hung open in shock.

“Ooh! Good on you, John. You’ve made the mad man speechless! Not everyone can do that.”

John glanced over at Becca to question this statement and saw that she was wiggling a syringe back and forth to get his attention. Becca looked pointedly at Sherlock’s IV then back to John.

“How would you know that, Becca?” John asked.

“Oh, one hears things.” Becca stepped over and stopped an alert that was about to go off.

“Sherlock, you need to breathe,” John said patiently.

“I AM breathing. If I wasn’t breathing, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

“You’re holding your breath when the pain hits. I can see it in your face. Just take the damn pain medication.”

Sherlock looked down at his hands and Becca took this opportunity to push the pain meds into his IV. She pulled the syringe out and capped it quietly.

“What? I told you. I told you. I told you I didn’t want any…why’s that stuff always gotta taste so bad anyhow,” Sherlock said, his speech slurring slightly.

“Shh…too late now. I’ve already given it to you. Just relax and we’ll get you back upstairs,” Becca said pushing the call button and requesting that orderlies escort Sherlock back to his room.

“You’re always doing this. Giving me drugs. Don’t want them. Not this kind. Don’t even use this crap. Never would. My brain is mush now.” Sherlock said, blinking to try and stay awake.

“Just this last time, I promise, Sherlock. Ok?” Becca said to the now barely conscious man.

“Mycroft’s not goin’…not gonna…he’s gonna be mad at you.”

“Somehow I doubt that. Stop fighting it and go to sleep. Next thing you know, you’ll wake up in your own room feeling much better than you have in days.”

“Don’t want to sleep…”

“Sherlock. You can barely keep your eyes open. Just give in and go to sleep. I’ll be with you when you wake up. I promise.” John said, reaching out to clasp Sherlock’s good hand which weakly squeezed his hand back.

“There you go. Listen to your mate,” Becca said soothingly.

“Shut up, Becca,” John and Sherlock said simultaneously. It was the last sound heard out of Sherlock for quite awhile.

***  
John gazed down at Sherlock’s face, looking deceptively angelic in its painfree repose. ‘Gorgeous, gorgeous man. You need someone to look after you. You can’t go on like this.’

“How’s he doing, doc?” John started as a hand clamped down on his back, the words all but shouted directly into his ear.

“Becca. I didn’t hear you come in and it’s doubtful that I’ll hear much of anything after you screeching into my ear like that.”

“Oh, John,” Becca said, shoving John’s shoulder playfully, “You really are too too funny! ‘Deaf.’ Good one!”

“What. Is. It.” John said clenched teeth.

“What’s what?”

“I swear, if you don’t…,” John began.

“Oh. Right. Go home. Take a shower, get some rest and then come back with some clean clothes.”

“Shower? What are you talking about?” John asked, exasperated.

Becca leaned in and took an exaggerated whiff of John’s neck wrinkling her nose in disgust.

“What?!” 

“Well, John. You reek. It’s a wonder that Sherlock is able too sleep through the stench you’re putting off. It’s so bad, my eyes are watering.” Becca wrinkled her nose.

“I do NOT!” 

“Do too. Oh yes, indeed you do. I could smell you coming from a mile away.” Becca smiled at him as he surreptitiously sniffed at one arm. Phew. Well, maybe she was right.

“Fine. I’ll shower here.”

“Nope.”

“What do you mean “nope?”

“Clean clothes, John?” Becca looked around. “Don’t see any.”

“I could have sworn that I brought some with me…” John said, sounding doubtful.

“Go home. Blow the stink off you. Take a nap. Pack up some things. Enough for two, three days, tops. I’ll have the room all set up for you when you get back.”

“But, Sherlock. I promised that I would be here when he woke up.”

“Oh, with the stuff I just gave him, he won’t wake up until tomorrow. Mid morning at the earliest.”

“Just what did you give him?” John asked, having wondered this earlier.

“Oh. A little bit of this. A little bit of that. All I’m saying is that you have some time, unless you keep hemming and hawing like you are right now, that is.”

“You’re sure he…,” John began.

“Positive. Now, go. I have his paperwork to do anyhow so I’ll keep him company while you’re gone.”

“And he…”

“Yes. John. You have between 11 and 12 hours before he starts waking up.”

“That’s a long time, what did you give him again?”

“John. Did you forget the mating? Did you forget the bond? Sherlock’s healing rate has dramatically increased. I don’t expect he’ll be stuck in hospital much longer and will be able to convalesce and do physical therapy at home. Now. Leave!” 

Giving Becca a brief nod, John turned on his heal and left, the door closing softly behind him.

“Thank fucking Christ!” Becca sat on a stool and rolled over to the computer mounted to the wall, picked up the keyboard and began updating Sherlock’s stats. What a day. 

***

“What are you doing?”

Becca jumped, guiltily dropping the blanket back over Sherlock’s hip.

“Just looking.”

“No looking, Becca.”

“But, Irene. He’s an Alpha! And you know what that means! An Alpha sized cock. Just one look? Please?” 

“No. Now, wake him up for me before someone else walks in.”

“Oh, no one’s going to be doing that for quite awhile,” Becca stood, pulled a syringe from her left lab coat pocket, uncapped it and slowly injected it into Sherlock’s IV.

Irene walked next to Sherlock, watching his eyelids flutter as he struggled to wake up. She leaned over and gently kissed his cheek. 

“Sherlock…,” she said softly.

“Here, Irene.” Becca placed a chair behind Irene so that she could sit and be comfortable while talking to Sherlock.

“Thanks. Before he wakes up completely, what’s the pain situation? Will he be able to understand what I’m saying?” Irene asked as she settled herself into the chair.

“No pain. I had to sacrifice some of the alertness provided by the drug to wake him up by giving him pain meds to keep him comfortable at the same time. Don’t worry. Just take your time. He’ll understand you.”

“Irene…what are you doing here?” Sherlock asked sleepily.

“Well, this is the only time where I could find you alone so that we could talk.”

“Talk? Talk about what?” Sherlock asked, becoming slightly more alert.

“About your unfortunate visit to the brothel when I distinctly remember telling you not to go. That it wasn’t safe.”

“Oh. That.” Sherlock looked sheepish.

“Yes. “Oh, that” indeed. What the hell were you thinking? You could have been killed. You’re lucky he only wanted to teach you a lesson and take your virginity.”

“If by ‘take’ you mean ‘rape’, then yes, he made sure that my virginity was…taken.” Sherlock said in disgust.

“Don’t get on your high horse about this, Sherlock. You were warned. More than once. I said danger and next thing I know, you’re being bustled into Becca’s lab, being prepped for your ‘lesson’.”

“It was still rape, Irene.” Sherlock said firmly.

“I know it was, love. I’m just glad that you weren’t killed but I’m still mad at you. Why can’t you follow even the simplest instructions? Once you found out what was going on, I told you that you were done. I’d handle it. What part of that was unclear to you?”

“This is my job, Irene. It’s what I do. I was on a case. You hired me. I am in fact, still ON that case and I always see my cases through.” 

Irene sat back with a sigh and looked into the gorgeous almond shaped eyes that were currently a silvery blue in the dim light.

“You knew the risk of injury and you went in anyhow so don’t cry ‘rape’ to me. This is one of those rare instances of someone literally “asking” for it. Be glad that your virginity is all you lost that night.”

“Yes. Thank you, Irene. I neither asked for nor require, your sympathy. Why are you here? Where is John?” Sherlock asked, looking around the room.

“I sent him home to shower, change, and nap. The man was developing a trail of gnats behind him. I was doing a public health service. He couldn’t be around patients any longer. He was here to bond with you and as soon as that was over, I sent him on his way. Besides, my beautiful Irene wanted to speak with you alone.” Becca gazed longingly at Irene.

“Later love. Later.” Irene said, giving Becca a sultry smile with her blood red lips.

“Irene? Hello?”

“Ah. Yes. Sorry, darling. Got a bit distracted there for a moment,” Irene said, giving Becca a quick smile before turning her gaze back to Sherlock.

“I wanted to apologize,” Irene said.

“For…?”

“You getting raped and beaten.”

“But you just…” Sherlock began only to be waived off by Irene.

“Yes, I know what I said and I still mean it. However, that doesn’t mean that I approved of what happened to you and I definitely don’t approve of the actions that Chris’ thugs took with you shortly thereafter. I don’t think that Chris likes you very much, Sherlock,” Irene said, smiling.

“Indeed? I hadn’t noticed. So, was that all then? You’re apologizing for my inability to follow “simple instructions”?” 

“That’s right. Oh, and to tell you that Becca will be paying a little visit to Chris tonight to clear a few things up where you’re concerned. I’m sure he’ll listen. Becca can be very persuasive, can’t you, darling?”

“Oh. Very. I’ll take care of him,” Becca assured Irene, lightly patting the right hand pocket of her lab coat where three lovely, bright, and recently sterilized scalpels lay, their blades tipped in a protective plexiglass covering.

“Time to go back to sleep, Sherlock,” Becca said pulling yet another syringe from her left pocket and, checking the label, had it uncapped and injected into Sherlock’s IV. Before he could give one word of protest, he was sound asleep.

“Hurt him for me, Becca. No one touches Sherlock Holmes like that and gets away with it. Make him bleed.” Irene said, standing up.

“Oh, he’s going to regret it, don’t worry on that score. Come, sweetheart, Sherlock’s going to be resting well into morning. Let me walk you to your car before I head out to that meeting with Chris.” She linked her arm through Irene’s and walked to the lift, then they were out in the parking lot, both headed in opposite directions, both with work to do. 

***

Chris sat in his office at B-Club, going over his profit margin with a fine tooth comb. There was no doubt about it; Becca had increased his profits ten-fold and it was she, rather than the brothel, that was his greatest asset. He loved her approach to business and finances and he’d do whatever he had to do to keep her. 

He was just shutting down his computer when there was a brief knock followed by Becca entering the room. 

“Becca! I was just thinking of you! How are you?” Chris beamed at her.

“Well, Chris. I’m not too happy with you right now,” Becca began.

“Yes. I completely understand. I didn’t set Dr Richardson on that path. I think that he was a little over zealous in his goal to get into my good graces. I’ve taken care of it and I do apologize. It won’t happen again.”

“The man’s a drug addict,” Becca said calmly. “He’s reckless and a danger to the business.”

Chris, who’d just been thinking the same thing, said, “You’re right, of course. I’ll send Adam to deal with him.” Picking up his cell, Chris called Adam to come into the office.

“Adam. I have a job for you. Seems that Dr Richardson has outlived his usefulness.”

“Yes, sir. I assumed as much. How would you like me to dispose of him?” Adam asked.

“He’s a morphine junky, likes to shoot up in his cock. I’d recommend an overdose at home. Lord knows that he keeps plenty of supplies there,” Becca said.

“Sir?”

“That works for me…,” Chris began.

“You’ll have to shoot him up in his dick. He has no tract marks anywhere else, he’s very careful. Wouldn’t do for the head of Anesthesiology of London’s leading hospital, to be found shooting up between his toes like your common drug addict.” Becca said matter of factly.

“Are you ok with that?” Chris asked.

“Yes sir. That’s what rubber gloves are for.”

“And if, as a special favor to me, you can set up as humiliating a scene as possible for the cops to find, I’d be ever so grateful. I believe that he still has at least one speculum in his house and I doubt it’s hidden.” Becca smiled that eerie smile that scared anyone with common sense and even those who were without it.

“Yes, ma’am. I’ll see to it.” Adam nodded and left Becca and Chris alone in the room again.

Becca walked to the door, turned the lock and moved to stand in front of Chris’ desk again.

“Was there something else? Ask and it’s yours,” Chris smiled up at her.

“Well, there is something you could do for me,” Becca said, placing a hand in her pocket and sliding the shield off the first scalpel.

“And what’s that?” 

“I’m afraid I’m going to need another apology,” she said, covertly removing the first scalpel from her pocket.

“Of course,” Chris was starting to feel uneasy. Becca had a strange look in her eye and he felt adrift at sea with no idea what might happen next.

“Once again, I am most profoundly sorry for Dr Richardson’s interference…FUCK!” Chris exclaimed, staring at the scalpel that had suddenly appeared and now impaled his hand to the desk.

“Not yet. But you will be.”

“What do you want? Why are you doing this?” Chris said, staring at his bleeding hand. He made no attempt to free it however because he was a pretty good judge of character and felt certain that Becca wasn’t through yet. If he wanted to make it out of this alive, he’d shut up and wait her out.

“Well, here’s the thing,” Becca said, taking another scalpel out of her pocket and uncapping it. She noted that Chris had begun to sweat and this time when she smiled, she showed all of her teeth looking like nothing so much as an alligator in that moment.

“You brought your business to my job. You attacked my patient. YOU did that, Chris. I keep my jobs separate from each other and I take both jobs very seriously. You came to my job and all but killed Sherlock Holmes. This caused me more work as well as great discomfort to my patient. Now, I know why you THINK that was an ok plan of action but I’m here to tell you;” *thwack* “that it’s not.”

“How can I make it up…to…you?” Chris ground out, looking at both hands now firmly tacked to his desk via their own personal scalpel. 

“Not done talking yet,” Becca said and walked forward stopping directly in front of Chris’ desk. She leaned over and wiggled first one scalpel, then the other causing more blood to stream and curses to erupt from quietly from Chris’ mouth. He knew better than to call for help or beg. He’d seen crazy before and he was looking at it right now.

“Here’s what needs to happen if we’re going to maintain this lovely partnership that I thought we had…” Becca sat a hip on the desk.

“Whatever you want! I don’t want to lose you,” and strangely enough, Chris realized this was true. He’d fucked up with Becca big time. He knew it and he knew he was owed a payback. He just wasn’t sure how far he was willing to go before he couldn’t take it anymore. 

His brother and money. Those were the only two things that Chris really cared about and Becca was indispensable for the financial part. If this was what he had to do to convince her that he’d learned his lesson, then he’d endure it, learn from it, and move on.

“First things first; don’t ever, and I do mean NEVER EVER, mix your work with mine. That’s my domain, not yours. Unless you’re bleeding from the eyes, don’t let me find out that you’ve so much as visited the hospital or this will seem like a fond memory to you.” *THWACK*

Chris looked down at the scalpel now pinning his trousers at the crotch to the wooden seat of his chair. The blade perilously close to his balls. He could feel the point pressing against the left one every time he exhaled.

“Never. I never will. Never again.” Chris promised.

“Good,” Becca said. Chris hadn’t even seen her move before he’d been hit by that third scalpel.

“Is there…” Chris swallowed. “Is there anything else that I can do to make amends?”

“Why, now that you mention it; yes there is. Leave Sherlock Holmes and his mate, John Watson, alone from now on.” Becca stared at Chris, waiting for what she’d just told him to sink in.

“They’re…they’re mated? Two Alphas?!” Chris was shocked. How was that even possible.

“Oh, yes. And I think that they make a lovely couple. In fact, my Mistress thinks so too and she’s asked me to ensure that you got the message to leave them alone.” Becca reached over and wiggled the scalpel that somehow seemed much closer to his balls.

“Well?”

“I’m sorry. My attention wandered for a second there. Please forgive the distraction.”

“Forgiven. Now, what have we learned?”

“Sherlock Holmes and John Watson are off limits.”

“And?” Becca pressed the scalpel at his groin a little closer to his testicles.

“AndI’llnevershowupatyourootherjobagain!” Chris got out in a rush.

“Very good. Now, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” Becca reached over and systematically removed the scalpels, wiping the blood off onto her lab coat, recovering them and placing them lovingly back into her pocket one at a time.

“Noooo, it was fine. I just have…one little question,” Chris asked nervously.

“Oh really?” Becca slid one hand back into her pocket, clearly fondling the scalpels within.

“I just…what if Holmes comes to MY place of business? Am I allowed to protect myself, my livelihood, then? I swear I won’t seek him out or send anyone to attack either Holmes or Watson, but you can see where I should be able to have some recourse should they show up in person with meddling on their minds.” 

Chris waited. He wasn’t sure how this would go. Becca was unpredictable and if you’d asked him that an hour ago, he would have said that - except for the occasional foray into questionable experiments - research scientists did everything by the book. Now, though? From now on, he’d be watching his ass.

“Hmmm…well, my Mistress didn’t give instructions on that either way. Give me a minute to contact her and pose your very valid question.” Becca pulled her cell out of her pocket, hit ‘1’ on speed dial and waited until Irene picked up.

“Mistress, Chris has brought up a valid point concerning Sherlock and John. He as agreed not to harm either one of them either by himself or by contract, however, he wants to know if he has any recourse should they show up at the Club again. Mmmmhmmm…Right…Ok. I’ll tell him. Goodbye.” 

Chris looked at Becca expectantly, anxiety and pain both etched clearly on his face. 

“The Mistress said that if Sherlock is dumb enough to go against her orders not to enter the premises again, then you may punish but NOT kill him. And I don’t mean, ‘bring him to the brink of death’ not kill him. You can’t hurt him but he can’t be grievously injured and under no circumstances are you allowed to harm one lovely hair on his head OR one freckle on his beautiful face. Watson you just leave alone. She feels he’s harmless as anything other than Sherlock’s assistant but that doesn’t mean she wants anything to happen to him. Anything that might set Sherlock on revenge. Understood?”

“Understood, completely. Thank you so much for this opportunity,” Chris said sincerely.

“Oh. Silly!” Becca said, smiling and ruffling Chris’ blond hair. Chris congratulated himself on not flinching when her hand suddenly reached out. “You know I like you otherwise you’d be missing at least one of those appendages tonight.” Becca looked meaningfully at Chris’ crotch and he gulped once again.

“Yes. Very generous and greatly appreciated.”

“I’m so glad! Look, the Mistress has asked that I spend some time with her. I know we’re short staffed here at the moment but I’d really appreciate it if I could get the next two days off. I’ll be back on Friday when business picks up. Is that ok?” 

“Of course! You definitely deserve a break. Just take off the weekend. You’ve earned it!”

“No, Chris. The Mistress asked for two days and so I am asking for two days. Nothing more, nothing less.”

“Oh. Ok. Whatever you want.”

“Thanks!” Becca beamed at him and turning around in a swirl of lab coat tails, she unlocked the door and closed it behind her. Chris swore he could hear her skipping down the hall.

Chris was relieved that it was over but worried about something else; his cock was semi hard. Oh, great. He almost loses his balls and it turns him on? Christ. He must be losing his mind.

He reached into the globe that acted as his liquor cabinet, poured himself two fingers of room temperature, 30 year old scotch and knocking it back in one swallow, realized that he was in deep shit because just thinking about pissing Becca off made his cock harden even further. 

Why did everything have to get so weird? Goddamn it! Now he had to jerk off or he’d was going to lose his mind. 

He rummaged around his desk drawer, found the lube and clean washcloth that he kept there for emergencies such as this. Unzipped, pulled his cock out, applied a liberal amount of lube and sighed as he gave it the first, long stroke.

Yeah. It was weird but it was fucking hot. Oh, Becca. The things I want you to do to me…”

The room became hot and full of the scent of musk, the only sounds being Chris’s groans and the slick sound of his palm sliding up and down his cock.

Things had gotten very weird indeed.


	27. Impatient Patient

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock gets to go home, starts feeling better and behaves just as you'd expect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter. Sorry about that. This is a tide me over for all of you who have been so patient. I'll finish this one day, I swear! Now, if the boys would quit meandering all over the place, that'd be really helpful.
> 
> Debbie
> 
> *Not beta'd, not reread, honestly, I don't know why I always put out this warning. If you've read this far, you already know my work.

***

Six weeks had passed since Sherlock had returned home, taking John with him. And in that time, John had had a crash course in what it was like living with Sherlock Holmes. Particularly a Sherlock Holmes that was housebound and couldn’t run out at a moments notice; although he still tried.

“What are you doing?” John asked.

“I heard the paper being delivered and thought I’d go pick it up.”

John looked at Sherlock, pale and sweaty from exertion, clearly in pain and said;

“No. Up we go,” John said, reaching a hand out to him which he stubbornly refused to take.

“No. I haven’t left the flat in six weeks and five days, I have to get out before my mind is reduced to jam.”

“Well, come on then, marmalade, you’re just going to have to get used to the long road to recovery. Besides, your physical therapist is going to be here soon and she won’t be happy about your latest attempt to leave the flat.”

“I don’t need physical therapy,” Sherlock said petulantly. 

“Stop being such a baby and let me help you up. How did you get this far anyhow?”

“I…uh…,” he hemmed.

“It’s pretty obvious so let me take a shot at it,” John said.

“That won’t be necessary,” Sherlock said primly.

Sherlock had made it halfway down the stairs and was currently sitting on his bum, panting slightly from exertion. His cane sat at the top of the stairs so he’d clearly gotten this far on his own without it.

‘Railing?’ Wondered John but no, John didn’t think that he could make it downstairs using his damaged right hand to hold onto the railing and his left foot, which was currently encased in a boot, wouldn’t have allowed him to take one step without support. John thought a moment and then started laughing causing Sherlock to produce a sullen look in his direction.

“Really, John. Even Anderson could have figured this one out.”

“In pain, are we?” John said, smiling.

“What do you think?” Sherlock said, reaching up for John’s hand.

“I think that you hobbled to the door with your cane, realized that you couldn’t make it down the stairs using it and so decided that scooting down a step at a time on your bum, was the way to go.

Using your cane as a lever to sit down, you made it down seven steps before you realized that it wasn’t as easy as you’d thought it would be and were now trapped halfway up and halfway down the stairs; the pain making it impossible to move in either direction. How am I doing?” John asked, still smiling.

“I don’t need your amateurish detective work. I need the paper. There might be a case in there. Go fetch it.” Sherlock gestured towards the front door as if he was a king and John his servant. John let that go. 

He knew how much the forced inactivity was beginning to get to him. Before he’d been in too much pain to care but now he’d healed just well enough that he felt stir crazy. It wasn’t enjoyable for either of them. 

“Fine. I’ll just run down and fetch the paper for you, shall I?” John said without waiting for an answer. He ran lightly down the stairs, making a great show of hopping off the bottom two. He turned and grinned up at Sherlock.

“Just get the paper, you utter arse,” Sherlock said. He didn’t sound angry though, he sounded as if he were in a lot of pain which, no doubt he was.

John swung open the door, grabbed the newspaper, putting it under his arm, and ran lightly back up to Sherlock.

John put out two hands to help Sherlock up. 

“Come on, baby.” John smiled; Sherlock scowled.

John had just gotten Sherlock settled in his chair, given him pain meds; “I don’t need these. It’d take a lot more than this to sideline me!” Sherlock said as he snatch the pills out of John’s hand and swallowed them dry.

“Don’t need them, eh? Drink your water before you burn a hole in your stomach from taking your meds like that all the time.”

“I think that I know a little more about drugs that you, John,” Sherlock said, giving John his best condescending look.

“IV user, not pill taker. Just listen to your doctor and there won’t be a problem. Ok?”

Sherlock felt a twinge in his chest and pressed a fist to his breastbone but said nothing.

“See? Here’s a nice cuppa…” John began as Sherlock’s mobile began buzzing.

“How did you get that again?” John asked, irritated.

Sherlock looked at John with a smirk and answer the call.

“Yes, Lestrade? What has your team managed to screw up this time?” 

“Give me that,” John said, reaching for the mobile.

“No,” Sherlock mouthed silently.

John groaned in frustration and went to search for his own mobile. Finding it in the kitchen, he picked it up and walked out the front door to the landing, closing it behind him. Hitting ‘3’, he pressed ‘enter’ and waited for the call to be picked up. Thirty seconds later;

“Lestrade here. Oh, John. Hi. I’m on the other line with Sherlock.”

“Yes. I know. I’m calling to find out why. You know he can barely walk, much less go on any cases.”

“I’m only asking if I can drop some case files off for his review.”

“Why? Why would you do that?” John asked, exasperated. 

“Why not? It’s just reviewing.”

John used the thumb and forefinger of his left hand to massage his brows. Heaving a sigh, he said;

“You’ve know him longer than I have, what do you think his reactions going to…OI!!” John yelled out as the door to the flat opened, doorknob hitting him squarely in the spine.

“Come along, John. Lestrade’s staff are about to destroy yet more evidence.

“You’re not going anywhere,” John said, surreptitiously rubbing his back with the knuckles of his right hand.

“I could…then…fall…it’s...,” They both heard Lestrade’s voice coming from the phone.

“What?!” John asked angrily.

The door to 221B Street opened and there stood Lestrade, mobile in hand. Upon seeing John and Sherlock standing on the stairs, he put his mobile away and said;

“I said I could help get Sherlock down the stairs so that he wouldn’t fall. It’s not a problem.”

“You bastard! You knew he wouldn’t be able to resist,” John exclaimed.

Lestrade had the good grace to look sheepish.

“I figured that a little side trip wouldn’t kill him and that you both could use some time away from this prison.”

Sherlock turned a triumphant look at John.

“John. Go fetch my cane!”

John turned silently to leave, grabbed a hand full of Sherlock’s hair and gave it a hard yank.

“Christ John! You know that my follicles are delicate! Quit larking about and get my cane!”

“Your wish is my command, you fucker.”

“What was that you said, John? Couldn’t quite make it out.”

“I said; your wish is my command, you fucker!”

“Oh. Ok. That’s what I thought. Chop chop!”

“Ass licking motherfucker.”

“I heard that!”

“Good!”


	28. Oh, Come On!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eight months (seven months and two days) have passed since Sherlock was attacked and he's feeling a little antsy...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No sex, drugs, or rock and roll!

***

‘Sherlock had been home for eight months now (“seven months, two days”) and the boot had come off (“should have come off weeks ago”) and had gone well above what the doctor’s had predicted in terms of the recovery of the complete use of his hands (“they’re idiots”)…’

“Sherlock, would you like to write this?” John said, softly slamming his laptop shut.

“You had some key data wrong and I was just helping.”

“I don’t need you standing over my shoulder giving me a running commentary. It’s a journal. It doesn’t need to be perfect. No one else is going to read…shut up. You might be reading it but you’re not supposed to!” John said, exasperated. Sherlock was a nosey git on his worst day and now that he was almost back to 100%, every day was his worst day and it was driving John insane!

“Fine. I won’t read over your shoulder anymore,” he said, flouncing off to the sofa and throwing himself onto it dramatically.

“I don’t want you reading it at all. Don’t think that I don’t hear the loop hole you just gave yourself. You won’t read it over my shoulder does NOT mean that you won’t read it when I’m not around. Mind your own business.” Now that Sherlock had moved across the room, John reopened his laptop up and resumed typing.

‘Living with Sherlock isn’t always easy…’ John heard Sherlock huff but ignored it.

‘We’re very compatible as mates and I don’t regret a moment of bonding with him. However, I still can’t get past the way we first met and although I know that I would never rape anyone, the fact is that I did and I don’t know if I can ever forgive myself,’ John looked over at Sherlock to find that he’d closed his eyes and had his fingers steepled beneath his chin. ‘Probably visiting his “Mind Palace” which is actually very interesting and I’ll give more detail about that at another date.’

‘Since the bonding, we have tried several times to consummate our relationship but every time we get close, I lose my erection, then interest and so nothing happens. Nothing but the the deep depression I fall into thinking about how I’m failing Sherlock as a mate and that he deserves someone better than me. Someone who didn’t rape him. A mate he’d have met at work or some other way. Just…not this way. 

Sherlock hasn’t complained about the lack of intimacy and we cuddle whilst drinking tea and watching telly. Still, I know he wants more but I’m not sure that I’ll ever have more to give. He deserves better. 

I plan to free him from our bond once he’s finished healing. It’s the least I can do for turning his life upside down. It’s not easy to break a bond but it can be done and I will do it for him. I love him with all my heart and there’s nothing that I wouldn’t do to make him happy…’

“I am happy, John.” 

“Jesus fucking Christ, Sherlock! You just scared the piss out of me! No, don’t say it. Not literally. Why are you lurking about like that, sticking your nose into other people’s business? It’s rude, is what it is,” John finished with an indignant huff.

“Well, I was minding my own business (and here, John snorted, loudly) and you just kept typing and typing. Such melodramatic taping away at the keyboard.. I couldn’t even get into my Mind Palace.” 

“Oh? How awful for you,” John said sarcastically.

“It’s alright. I know that you have a rudimentary understanding those things at best,” Sherlock said condescendingly while John just rolled his eyes.

“But the incessant whining about sacrificing yourself on my behalf because of the rape that I don’t even connect you with… If I think about it, it’s Chris I see doing it. Chris who’s taking away something that was personal and mine to share. Not you, John. Never you. I love you too and I don’t want our bond broken unless…do you?” Sherlock asked, looking sweet and innocent and desperately young standing there, heart on his sleeve.

“Of course I don’t want to break the bond. It’s just, well…don’t you? I’m not a very good bond-mate. I haven’t been able to touch you since it happened. I’m afraid that it will cause you to experience flashbacks. And every time I think that I’ll be able to move past it, I’ll look at you and think about the way that you lost your virginity and that I’m the person that took that from you, I…” Sherlock walked from behind John’s chair, settled himself in his lap like a large cat, put his arms around his neck and nestled into him, rubbing his cheek over John’s scent gland, humming contentedly. 

“Maybe I’m not ready to be touched,” Sherlock started, “Just let me say what I need to say first.” John nodded in agreement and put all of his apologies and protests aside…for the moment.

“You’ve been picking up on my nervousness about having our ‘first time’ because that’s what it is to me, John. As far as I’m concerned, we’ve never been together, not without copious amounts of drugs, at least,” Sherlock pulled back and gave John a tremulous smile and a quick kiss on the lips before continuing.

“I honestly barely remember either time. What I do remember is the prep. I’ll never forget that. It was…unpleasant. But by the time I was taken out to be made “ready” for you, I was pretty out of it. I was aware and thinking the entire time but I wasn’t all there. If you know what I mean,” Sherlock looked at John and John nodded.

“I don’t think about it now because it doesn’t do me any good to dwell on it. I’ve given it its own room in my Mind Palace, locked the door and thrown away the key. One day I might open that door and be able to examine my feelings but that day is not today and even if it were, I’ll never consider you anything other than the fellow victim that you are. I wish you could believe that.” Sherlock leaned into John, hoping to instigate a kiss which John obligingly provided.

“I love you, John. With all my heart. There will never be anyone else for me. It would break my heart to lose you,” Sherlock said, subtly wiping a tear away. 

John took hold of his hand and kissed his palm then placed it against his cheek. He looked at Sherlock and said, “I love you too. With all my heart and there will definitely never be anyone else. It would break my heart if I lost you. I’m not sure that I could go on…”

“Don’t say that. That’s nothing we need to worry about for a long, long time.”

John gave him an ironic look.

“Well, granted, in my line of work the odds of an accident are greatly increased.”

“‘Accident?’” John asked, one eyebrow raised. 

“Scuffle?” Sherlock supplied looking at John hopefully.

“Try again.”

“Have I mentioned that I love you?” Sherlock asked with a smile.

“Yes you have but I’ll never get tired of hearing it. Come back here so I can kiss you, my darling man.”

They came up for air quite awhile later and John had realized something…Sherlock hadn’t been behind him the entire time he’d been typing in his journal. He’d been stretched out on the sofa, not moving a muscle. How did he know…

“Sherlock?”

“Yes, John?” Sherlock gave a dreamy reply.

John pulled back and looked Sherlock directly in the eyes; “How did you know all that stuff about me wanting to break the bond and let you go?” 

“I read it while I was standing behind you, obviously.”

“No. You were most definitely laying on the couch for most of it. Can you…can you tell which keys I’m typing on the computer just by listening?”

“Maybe…” Sherlock hedged. “Would it make you angry?”

“It should but I’d actually be impressed.”

“Let’s shoot for impressed,” Sherlock smiled at John who smiled back.

“I really don’t want to visit your sister next week, though,” Sherlock added blithely. 

“Well, I don’t want to go either but…wait…I didn’t type that today. You weren’t even in the flat when I wrote that. You were having your last physical therapy visit before being given a complete bill of health so…you’re breaking into my laptop again, aren’t you?”

“Would it impress you if I were?” Sherlock asked hopefully.

“No. It wouldn’t.”

“In that case, I haven’t been easily guessing your passwords and breaking in,” Sherlock said in clearly feigned innocence.

“Sherlock. Don’t touch my stuff!” John said sternly.

“Really? What about this?” Sherlock said, stroking a finger down John’s pajama covered cock.

“Well…I guess that one’s ok…”

“What about this?” Sherlock traced the shell of John’s left ear with his tongue.

“That…that’s fine too.”

“And this?” Sherlock asked, sliding his tongue slowly along John’s scent gland.

“Well, that’s your’s anyhow so…”

Just then Sherlock’s mobile went off playing Lestrade’s distinctive ringtone, You Can Call Me Al by Paul Simon.

“Don’t answer that,” John said sternly.

“But what if it’s a case?” Sherlock was already standing up and grabbing his mobile from the coffee table.

“What are the odds…”

“Lestrade. Out of your depth…again? What would you do without me?” Sherlock headed to the bedroom, a slight limp still visible, and began throwing clothes around trying to find something suitably superior to wear so that he could look down on Lestrade and his incompetent staff appropriately.

John sighed. Well, at least it was progress…of a sort.

Sherlock was ready in a flash and standing at the door impatiently tapping his foot, and giving John his most impatient look.

“What?” John asked.

“Are you coming or are you going to lounge about in those pajama bottoms all day?”

“Well, not ALL day,” John said, wiggling his eyebrows.

“We don’t have time for that now, John! Get dressed! We finally have a case and I don’t even care if it’s only a two. I just need to get out of here and do something!

“Fine,” John said, giving in reluctantly knowing that he didn’t have a choice.

“Hurry up! Maybe it’s a six! It’d better not be lower than an seven or Lestrade’s going to hear it from me! Dragging an invalid from his sick bed…”

“You’re not sick!” John yelled from their bedroom where he was hurriedly throwing clothes on.

“You’re right! I’m recovering from a grievous attack! That’s even worse! It’d better be at least an eight or there will be a discussion about dragging me from my death bed!” Sherlock said, now wound up by his anticipated disappointment by Lestrade.

“You’re not dying,” John said, pulling a jumper over his head.

“Yes I am!” Sherlock declared.

“Eventually doesn’t count.”

“Oh, well, I have a limp! Oww!”

“Come on, Meryl, let’s see what Lestrade wants.

“‘Meryl’? Who’s that?” Sherlock asked, puzzled.

“Just one of the greatest actors of…just go,” John said, turning Sherlock around and pushing him out the door.

“You know I hate those obscure references, John,” Sherlock began.

“Yes, dear.”

“Really, you think you’d have learned that by now. I feel like we have this discussion over and over again…”

“Yes, dear. I do too,” John said, closing the door behind him.

Sherlock continued complained, John smiling during the entire trip to the crime scene. Sherlock was finally on the mend and John had never been happier.


	29. That's When The Trouble Started, Officer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock gets antsy and John reluctantly accompanies him to the police station to look at a case. 
> 
> Things go about as well as can be expected where Sherlock Holmes is concerned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Really thought that Chris was going to get his in this chapter but I couldn't make it happen. Sorry about that.

***

Sherlock had been home from hospital for seven months, two days, and six hours. The last two hours had been spent at Scotland Yard discussing the latest case confounding the police. 

“An innumerable amount of crimes must have been committed whilst I’ve been unavailable to the Yard. A criminal’s paradise.”

“Keep you voice down,” John hissed.

“Why? I’m just stating the facts.”

“You’re being a pompous arse - as usual - and everyone can hear you.”

“They need to hear me. They might learn something. Then again…” Sherlock gazed around the room from where he stood at the booking desk waiting for Lestrade to come back with a copy of the case file. 

Heads lowered immediately as everyone pretended that they were engrossed in their work and not eavesdropping on Sherlock’s loudly proclaimed evisceration of the officer’s crime solving abilities - or lack there of. 

“Probably not,” he finished.

John looked around the room and saw that several officers busily typing at their computers had the tell tale blush of red ears. Either angry or embarrassed, John couldn’t tell but he suspected that it was a little bit of both. Sherlock clearly was an equal opportunity impugner of people’s reputations. No wonder they couldn’t stand him.

This being the first time that Sherlock had been allowed to leave the flat since being attacked, John had never worked a case with Sherlock before. Hell, he’d never worked a case, period, and he was feeling a bit self-conscious standing here with this man who was a genius - as well as a bigger arse than he’d originally thought. These poor men and women were just doing their jobs. Sherlock had walked in and, without any preamble or provocation that John could see, begun to casually flay everyone to the bone verbally. 

“You look a little pale. You should have brought your cane.”

“I’m fine, John. Stop acting like a mother hen. It’s one of your less attractive features.”

“Nice try. I’m not going to fight with you. You’re clearly in pain. If Lestrade wants you to have that file, he can bloody well bring it to the flat. I’m going to use the washroom and then we’re leaving - Lestrade or no Lestrade. You gonna be alright for five minutes?”

“Don’t be insulting. Just go.” Sherlock leaned casually against the desk and Sherlock never leaned. John could tell that he was in a lot of pain and it was steadily increasing. He was doing too much at one time. John knew this was a bad idea but it wasn’t easy saying ‘no’ to a man like Sherlock Holmes.

“If you’re sure…”

Sherlock gave John a withering glance.

“Right. Well. I’ll be back in a tic. Try not to get into trouble while I’m gone, yeah?”

“Go.”

John left, worrying the entire time. He was very protective of Sherlock and didn’t like leaving him alone to his own devices for very long. It didn’t seem to take much for him to get himself into trouble.

Just as John rounded the corner, Anderson and Donovan walked in, saw Sherlock, changed course and headed straight for him. The pair began whispering to each other and laughing like school kids. They were plotting something and Sherlock admitted to himself that he really didn’t feel up to a verbal sparring match at the moment. He braced himself against the desk and waited.

“How’s it going, fag.”

Someone gave a sharp intake of breath. All noise stopped except for the occasional ringing of a phone. The tension in the room was palpable. This had the potential to become a huge scene. Where was goddamned Lestrade anyway? Did he keep those fucking files in a vault in the basement? Christ!

“Not a very smart thing to say in this day and age,” said Sherlock mildly. He didn’t seem perturbed by the slur in the least.

“I hear you two are mates now. That’s disgusting. Alpha on Alpha sex.” Sally said, venomously.

“We’re not the first case of Alpha’s mating. It’s widely accepted as the norm by most people these days. Of course, there are always throw backs who can’t change with the times. I guess we know which group you two fall into, don’t we.” 

“But you’re not normal, are you, freak? Couldn’t find anyone of the opposite sex who would have you so you tricked poor Doctor Watson into bonding with you. That’s pathetic.” 

“Doctor Watson was not tricked and none of this is any of your business.” Sherlock was fading fast. Where the hell was John.

“You look pretty good for someone who was supposedly at death’s door. Took and eight month vacation, did you? We all knew you were faking it.” Donovan smiled.

“I don’t give a flying fig for what you think, if you think at all,” Sherlock said who now looked a little shaky. He was certain that none of her insults had hit home, it was just as John said; he’d done too much on his first day out and needed to get home…now.

“Heard that your would be rapist couldn’t even get it up long enough to fuck you. Go figure. Even a rapist doesn’t want you. How you got Doctor Watson is a mystery.” Donovan gave Sherlock an insultingly thorough look from head to toe. 

Just then John appeared. He realized that he must have taken more than five minutes, if the smug look on Sally’s face was anything to go by.

John took one look at Sherlock’s white face and Donovan’s smug smile and realized that some of their barbs must have hit home. Sherlock looked…upset - as upset as Sherlock got - and just about ready to pass out.

“Ah. Doctor Watson. We,” Donovan nodded to her silent partner, Anderson. “Were just trying to figure out how a loser like Sherlock Holmes managed such a good catch as yourself. How did he trick you into it? Was the sex that good?” 

“Donovan…” John said, taking a step forward, fists clenched so tightly that the knuckles shown white through the skin.

“No, John,” Sherlock said, putting a hand in front of John to halt his progress. “That’s what they want. For one of us to lose our temper here. Get us kicked out maybe, Donovan?” 

“Now why would I want to go and do a thing like that to our most helpful consulting defective. Oh. Sorry. I meant to say ‘detective.’ Freudian slip and all that.”

“You’re an arse, Donovan.” John exclaimed heatedly.

Sally looked John up and down and then gave a slow smile.

“I was wondering who was the bitch in this relationship. It would seem to be you, Holmes. You’re the one taking that huge Alpha cock up the arse, aren’t you. Look at your big bad Alpha trying to protect you.”

“Fuck you, Sally!” John said, his temper rising. 

“Hey! You can’t talk to her that way! She’s an officer of the law and you’ll show her the respect due her position.” Anderson piped put in.

“Really, Anderson, missionary is hardly a position deserving of respect. Most people do it that way on the regular,” Sherlock said. Anderson’s face grew red and he sputtered trying to come up with a cutting reply but only succeeded in spitting on himself. He looked to his heroine, Sally Donovan, to save the day.

“Heard someone got into hospital and finally gave you that beating that you’ve been after all of these years. I just wish that I could have seen it.” Sally mused happily.

“The man was critically injured and you’re just showing your true colors, Donovan. Is this how you treat all of the victims who come in here?” John said, now quite red in the face.

“Victim? Him?” She pointed in Sherlock’s direction.

“If ever someone was asking for a beat down, it’d be Sherlock Holmes. God, that must have felt satisfying to the perp. Heard he “tried” to fuck you too. You probably wanted it. Lead him on, maybe? The whole office has been taking bets on whether or not you invited him in, so to speak, and then cried foul when he couldn’t get his cock up that tight arse of yours. Isn’t that right?” Sally asked, giving her widest shark-like smile.

Sherlock just stood staring at Donovan seemingly unable to say anything in response. John was so angry that he wouldn’t have been surprised if steam was coming out of his ears.

“Are you this compassionate with all of the victims who come in here looking for help?”

“I am not a victim, John,” Sherlock put in quietly, still quite pale and now a little shaky on his feet. It was his first day out since recovery and it’d been too soon. He’d been out too long and was exhausted; Donovan wasn’t making that any better.

“See? What’d I tell you? Even Holmes admits he’s not a victim. Asking for it, that’s what he was doing. Probably offered that arse of his right up and then decided to play hard to get. No wonder he beat the ever loving shit out of you. Isn’t that how it happened, Holmes.”

“Sally, that’s enough!” Lestrade had walked over unnoticed, file folder under his arm. He was so angry that he could barely speak.

“It’s only the freak, sir. This sort of talk doesn’t bother him. He’s an exhibitionist. He get offs on it. Don’t you, freak?”

“I said, that’s enough! You’re off for the next two days, without pay.”

“But…” Donovan sputtered.

“You were warned, twice. Maybe you need a little downtime to think about the way you treat victims of a crime.”

“I’m not a victim,” Sherlock said, so softly that no one heard him this time.

“Go on. Go. What the fuck are you staring at, Anderson? Get back to work!”

Anderson and Donovan, heading in opposite directions, slunk off. Anderson with his tail between his legs and Donovan filled with righteous anger. She didn’t deserve this and she’d tell Lestrade that as soon as he met with her. Always protecting Sherlock Holmes. A man who clearly didn’t need or deserve protection. She truly believed that Sherlock had brought it on himself and had absolutely no sympathy for him. He didn’t deserve it.

***

They heard a door slam in the distance.

“Seems like Sally followed your instructions and is in your office.” Sherlock said.

“Yeah. Great. I can’t wait to deal with her.”

“Don’t do it on my account. I’m not a victim. I’m used to getting into disagreements with the incompetent. She’s just smarter than most and realizes that she’s in the wrong job. Really, Lestrade. Isn’t there a nice office out in the country where you can put her lack of skills to use?” Sherlock said, condescension rolling off his tongue with ease.

John looked at Sherlock. He did seem fine. A little white around the edges; he was clearly in pain but, deny it though he might, John knew that Sherlock had been bothered by what Donovan had said. 

It was obvious by the set of his jaw, the tension in his neck. John needed to get him home and into bed before Sherlock passed out where he stood. He definitely wouldn’t like suffering that indignity in front of the entire department. 

“File, Lestrade?” Sherlock asked, holding his hand out.

“What? Oh, yes. Here you go. Let me know what you think.” Sherlock rolled his eyes.

“Right. When have you ever not told me what you thought.”

“Come on. Let’s go, Sherlock.” It was an indication of how bad Sherlock felt that he instantly acquiesced.

Just as they turned to leave, John noticed a jumpy young man - drug addict, he quickly determined - and realized that he was staring at Sherlock in what looked like abject horror. John could tell that the man didn’t see anyone but Sherlock, he was fixated on him.

“Sherlock,” John said. Receiving no answer, he tried again.

“Sherlock!” 

“What?” Sherlock asked, clearly distracted.

“There’s someone staring at you.” Sherlock and unerringly sighted the man with the twitching eye who’d somehow become even more nervous when he realized that Sherlock had caught him looking. He hurriedly, and unsubtly, lowered his gaze to his feet while still making covert glances at Sherlock under lowered lids.

“Any idea who that is?” John asked.

“Not a clue. He looks familiar though…” Sherlock trailed off, thinking.

“He looks like a dealer who hits his own product,” John said shaking his head in pity at the trembling young man.

“Maybe…” Sherlock said distractedly and turned away, mind clearly somewhere else.

“Right, paracetamol and bed for you. No arguing. I won’t accept no for an answer.”

“Yes, John.”

“You really must be feeling bad to be so agreeable.”

“Mmm hmm,” Sherlock agreed then stumbled giving a quiet cry of pain.

Linking arms with Sherlock - who made not one sound of protest - they headed outside into the bright light where the noticed a very expensive, highly polished black care awaited them. Rear door open and inviting.

“Sometimes I almost like Mycroft,” John said, helping Sherlock into the car.

“What?” Sherlock asked somewhat vaguely.

“Never mind. Let’s go home, shall we?” John didn’t expect and answer and didn’t receive one. Sitting next to Sherlock, he pulled the car door shut and waited for the driver to take them where they needed to go - all without one word being said between them.

Sherlock leaned towards John and put his head on his shoulder closing his eyes. John lifted his arm and wrapped it around Sherlock pulling him in closer where he immediately fell asleep.

“I’ll take care of Sally, don’t you worry, love.” 

Brushing one errant curl away from Sherlock’s brow, John leaned over and kissed him gently on the forehead. They drove the rest of the way in silence, Sherlock now relaxed in sleep and John plotting his revenge. Yes. John would take care of this. He hadn’t been allowed to do anything against the brothel but he’d fix it so Sally never said one unkind word to Sherlock again.

‘Time enough for revenge later,’ was John’s last thought before closing his eyes and falling asleep to the soothing motion of the car. 

***

“Chris!” Tommy said frantically into his mobile. He’d barely gotten out of the front door before he’d pulled his mobile out of his pocket and called his brother.

“Tommy? What is it? Calm down.” Chris said, looking a spreadsheet on his screen.

“It’s that Holmes guy.”

Chris sat up, all of his attention suddenly focused on his brother.

“What about him?” Chris asked, deceptively calm.

“He was at the police station talking about a case from last year. That was before he got into a row with these two cops. Anyhow, it sounded like he was back on the case!” 

Tommy hadn’t heard anything of the sort; he hadn’t been close enough to listen but he HAD seen the detective inspector hand Sherlock a file folder and that was good enough for him. A little white lie never hurt anyone.

“Are you sure? He mentioned the brothel by name?”

“Yes. Said he was going to come over there and finish things with you,” Tommy lied. “I’m scared, Chris.” A true statement, that one.

“Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it. I obviously didn’t make much of an impression on Mister Holmes the last time. Hurry up and get home and for the love of god, stop getting arrested!” Chris said, ending the call. 

‘Yes. Time to remove Holmes from the gene pool.’ Chris thought, smiling. He couldn’t wait.


	30. Sherlock Finally Gets Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Sherlock Holmes is stir crazy and capable of leaving on his own, what do you do? Why, pretend it was your idea all along, of course!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slow, slow, slow. Sorry about that. Wrapping up now.

***

Three weeks later…

John had taken care of Sherlock’s physical therapy during his recovery and although he still had a limp, he was proud that Sherlock was back on his feet. He really should be using his cane to get around but he’d adamantly refused. He’d claimed that he hadn’t needed it but John suspected that it had more to do with the fact that Mycroft had gifted it to him than anything else. 

Since Sherlock had been injured, John had been picking up ad locum work at St Bart’s. He hadn’t taken on too many hours; he’d figured out early on that Sherlock could not be left to his own devices.

Sherlock had trouble making it down the steps anyhow and after that last adventure, had decided to wait “a little longer just to humor you, John.” John let him hide behind his pretense of dignity. He didn’t care why Sherlock stayed home, just so long as he did.

They’d finished up physical therapy two weeks ago and had begun taking daily walks in the park with Sherlock working at recovering his violin skills at his own pace. John thought that he played beautifully; Sherlock didn’t agree. 

He was often frustrated and prepared to pick up the nearest object and throw it against the wall. John had removed all breakable objects from his practice area knowing that Sherlock would never break his violin and was far too lazy to fetch something from the kitchen to destroy.

John was anxious to get back to work. Today was the first time that he’d be able to work a full day since Sherlock’s injury. He’d been out to pick up meds and food of course, but there weren’t enough breaks in the world to deal with a cranky, housebound Sherlock Holmes. If John was going insane, Sherlock was losing it to the nth degree.

“You’re sure that you’re going to be alright here on your own?” John asked for the third time.

“Yes, mother. I’m perfectly fine. All mended and ready to take a walk.”

“I could go with you?” John asked tentatively. John was torn. He wanted get back to work but he couldn’t seem to stop worrying about Sherlock. Must be mate-separation anxiety. 

Working in the medical field, John had heard of it, of course. A newly bonded couple and their “honeymoon” period where they wanted, needed to be together constantly the first two weeks after mating. And while John and Sherlock had been together for those crucial two weeks, they’d been unable to be intimate again and had yet to consummate their relationship without it being under duress. 

One didn’t enter into bonding lightly, especially without having made the time available to dedicate to your new mate during those first two weeks. John and Sherlock had been lucky. They’d run into each other and had been inseparable ever since. The problem was that it had been far from intimate.

They’d tried several time to mate again but something always intruded. John’s guilt over originally mating with Sherlock against his will or Sherlock’s nervousness about having sex again. That he still thought of it as ‘sex’ and not ‘making love’ was a problem in and of itself. It wasn’t as if he’d lost his virginity under the best possible circumstances and for all intents and purposes, he still felt as if he were a virgin with all the nervousness of a first time that went along with it. 

It wasn’t that he didn’t love John; quite the contrary, but the time never felt right. Sherlock was always self-conscious and then there were the waves of guilt that John unknowingly put off any time they were even remotely close to being intimate. They’d been working on kissing for awhile now and had become comfortable with each other - but it never went any further and they always drew apart, both of them angry and frustrated. It couldn’t go on like this. It was coming up on a year since the…rape had happened. Sherlock should be over it by now. Shouldn’t he? Something like this should not control his actions and yet here they were, barely able to kiss without suddenly drawing apart as if frightened away.

“John. I’m a grown man and I’d appreciate it if you’d stop treating me like a child,” Sherlock said this in a mild but clearly agitated tone of voice. He was desperate to have some alone time. Time to walk off the slight limp that remained as a souvenir of his attacker’s attentions. Besides, he wanted to casually walk past B-Club and maybe see what was happening.

“…and don’t you dare go by that club!” John finished.

“I’m sorry. What?” Said Sherlock who hadn’t been paying the least bit of attention to what John had been saying.

“I said; stay away from B-Club. I don’t like that they got away with this any more than you do and we’ll get them eventually but for now, you promised the leave it up to Mycroft to handle.”

“And what has Mycroft done? Absolutely nothing! He’s made some sort of arrangement with Irene and he won’t tell me what it is. What they did to me…I need closure, John and sitting around waiting for Mycroft to do something isn’t helping. Why is it a secret? I’m quite capable of assisting with the missing Betas.”

“No Betas have been taken since your accident. I’m pretty sure that Irene and Mycroft had a hand in that.”

“Neither one of them is as competent as I am. It needs a fresh eye! It needs me. I’m the only one who can solve this. And what about all of those Betas who are still missing. Am I just supposed to ignore that?” Sherlock asked, clearly exasperated.

Truth be told, John was also very concerned with the missing Betas. It wasn’t in his nature to leave someone to suffer however, Mycroft had assured him that he was on it and with so much to do taking care of Sherlock, John had let it go. Now Sherlock was bringing it to the forefront causing John to realize that he hadn’t had a report from Mycroft in months.

“I promise that we’ll solve this. We should first talk to Mycroft…

“That over stuffed partridge probably hasn’t worked a day on this case. He’s just trying to placate me so that I’ll stay away. Well, that’s not going to work anymore.” Sherlock walked with a slight limp and pulled his coat from the rack.

“Where are you going?”

“I need exercise, John. You said so yourself. I’m going to take a walk.”

“Give me a minute and I’ll beg off work and go with you.” And John had been so close to going back to work too.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, John, but I neither want nor require your company. I haven’t had any time alone - no, your occasional trips out for supplies doesn’t count - I need a break from this place, from you. You can’t tell me that you haven’t felt the same way.”

“Fine. You’re right. I’ve been stir crazy but you’re my mate and it’s my job to take care of you. I love you, Sherlock. You’re my world and if I lost you well, I don’t know what I’d do.”

Sherlock gave a little hop and rubbed his hands together. “Great! That’s just great John! You won’t regret it.”

“You didn’t listen to a single word I just said.

“Of course I did. You’re worried and want me to be careful. Was there more?”

John looked at Sherlock, face wreathed in smiles and knew that he couldn’t deny the man anything.

“Must your first time out be on the one occasion where I’m working all night?”

“Come, John. That’s not really my first time out now, is it? We’ve walked around the park many times now. I need to do it on my own. Don’t baby me.”

“Well, you still have a limp and your leg still bothers you. You’re not going to get better if you take off running after bad guys in London.”

“Bad guys? What on earth are you talking about? How did we go from ‘taking a walk’ to ‘chasing bad guys’? Sherlock asked…a little too innocently for John’s taste.

“Because, it’s what you do and you’re tired of solving crimes on paper. You, my dear mate, are bored.”

“Well, of course I’m bored! Those cases weren’t worth my time! I just took them to show Lestrade how incompetent his staff was. Is.”

“I’m pretty sure that he’s aware of your opinion on the matter.” John said, the hint of a smile turning up his lips.

“Please, John! I’ll be good. I swear!” Sherlock lied.

“Look at you! You’ve been in the house for so long that you’ve lost your lying skills.” John said with a laugh.

“I have not!”

“Fine. Go. Just…and I can’t believe how pointless it is for me to say this…stay out of trouble. Don’t make me sic Mycroft on you.”

“You wouldn’t dare!”

“Look at me; am I lying?”

Sherlock hesitated, studying John’s face intently.

“No. Fine. I’ll stay away from criminals…for now.”

“See? That was much better! You’ll get back into the swing of lying.”

“I wasn’t even trying…” Sherlock muttered under his breath petulantly. 

They both headed for the door at the same time, causing a bottleneck at the doorway where neither could leave.

“Let me out, John.”

“In a minute.”

“Oh lord. What now?” Sherlock asked, exasperated.

“Take your cane,” John said, nodding it the direction of said cane.

“No. Absolutely not.” Sherlock declared adamantly.

“Take it or you can’t go out.”

“You’re not the boss of me!” Sherlock exclaimed childishly.

“I am right now. Go back and get the cane. I’ll wait.” John waited…and waited…and waited.

“You’re going to be late for work!”

“Go. Get. Your. Cane.”

“Fine!” Sherlock removed himself from the doorway with some difficulty and walked over to where his can sat leaning against his desk.

“There’s a good lad,” John said with a smile.

“What’s to keep me from throwing this in the first clump of shrubbery that I see,” Sherlock said, carrying the hated cane back to the doorway.

“That’s easy.”

“Oh? Really. How so?”

John pulled Sherlock against him by the lapels of his Belstaff.

“Because I’d be very,” John said, placing a kiss on the firm line of Sherlock’s lips. 

“Very,” John applied a kiss to the other side of Sherlock’s now softening lips.

“Disappointed,” John finished up and gave Sherlock a shockingly torrid kiss full on his mouth.

“I won’t be manipulated!” Sherlock said a little breathlessly.

“Yes.” *kiss* “You.” *kiss* Will. Do it for me, please?”

Sherlock looked into John’s doe-eyed gaze and gave up.

“I never could resist those eyes. Fine. I’ll take the cane…” Sherlock began.

“And…?”

“And use it. Dammit,” And with a great deal of exasperation, Sherlock capitulated. 

“That’s the man I know and love. I promise that you’ll be grateful for it a few blocks in,” John smiled.

“I said I’d use the damned thing. Can we please leave now?”

“Yes. You be good now and use that cane. If you do - and I believe you - there will be a prize for you when I get home.”

“This is humiliating…” Sherlock hesitated then asked, “What kind of prize?” Sherlock asked, trying to sound nonchalant and failing miserably.

“You’ll like it. I promise. Ready to go now?”

“I’ve been ready,” Sherlock replied testily now at the end of his patience.

John turned to leave, then stopped.

“One more thing,” John said seriously.

“God. What now?!”

“Stay away from B-Club.” 

“Why on earth would I go to B-Club?” 

John just looked at him.

“Okay, fine. I won’t go to B-Club! Happy?”

“Not until I see you again, my love. Shall we?” John said stepping through the door and taking Sherlock’s arm.

“I don’t need your help, John.”

“I know,” John said placatingly. “Just humor your mate on this one. Ok?”

Looking into John’s eyes, Sherlock could see the genuine worry there and suddenly felt churlish for treating John so badly. After all, Sherlock would still do as he pleased. He knew it and John definitely knew it. He’d take the damned cane but not because he needed it. Not at all.

Sherlock linked arms with John and they started slowly down the stairs, his mood lifting the closer he got to the front door.

Hand on the doorknob, Sherlock turned to John and said;

“This is going to be a great day. I know it!”

“Sherlock Holmes let loose on the public - on his own - for the first time in almost a year. What could possibly go wrong?”

“Exactly!” Sherlock said without a trace of irony.

“Exactly,” John agreed morosely. 

They stepped out into the sunshine, each heading in the opposite direction. After a few minutes, John stopped and turned around to get a glimpse of Sherlock’s retreating back and…he wasn’t there. He’d already vanished. How did he do that?

John continued on, his heart heavy and full of worry.

***

Tommy had been hiding in another conveniently located alley close to where Sherlock and the ever present Watson lived. He’d been waiting for weeks. Weeks! He’d thought that over protective Alpha would never let Holmes out on his own but his patience had finally paid off! Today seemed to be the day!

Tommy had been watching 221B from across the street for the past three weeks and it just so happened that today he’d decided to switch it up and move closer to the house. And, jackpot! Not only were the two leaving but they were going in opposite directions with Holmes headed Tommy’s way. 

It seemed that Tommy’s luck had finally turned! He’d been equipped with chloroform and a dirty rag the entire time and had figured out early on not to smell the contents of the container - he’d wound up flat on his back in the alley waking up with a god awful pounding in his head. No. He wouldn’t do that again. The good news was that he knew for sure that not only did the stuff work but it worked fast! This was good to know, especially since he wasn’t sure that he could take Holmes if he was back to full strength. The cane in his hand let him know that the man likely wasn’t in fighting shape - yet.

Holmes was getting closer to where Tommy lay in wait. A few more seconds and he’d have him! There he was! Now! 

***

At any other time, Sherlock would have been hyper aware of his surroundings however at this moment, he was his mind was concentrated on John and what this “surprise” could possibly be. Sherlock couldn’t begin to fathom an answer to that and he found that incredibly exciting. Maybe tonight would be the night that they’d finally be able to put their fears aside and give their mating the perfect consumation that it deserved. 

To say that Sherlock was distracted by these intriguing thoughts was an understatement. His cock had begun thickening just thinking of the possibilities and he felt that he might just be ready to start over again. To start a new life with John.

So it was with these thoughts filling his head that he suddenly felt his cane yanked from under him while a dirty rag - disgusting - was shoved against his nose and mouth in an incompetent manner. The last thought that Sherlock had before lapsing into unconsciousness? ‘Why now?’ And then he knew no more.

***

“Chris? Yeah! I got him! It was super easy. That Watson bloke is long gone. He never even knew what was going on with his love right under his nose! Problem is; how do I get him to B-Club? I never thought that far,” Tommy finished lamely.

Giving a subtle sigh, Chris said;

“No worries. I never expected you to drag that arse up here on your own anyhow. I’ll send Adam to help right now. And for the love of god, stay out of sight! Wouldn’t do to get caught out at this stage of the game now, would it?” 

“Don’t worry, Chris! I won’t let you down!”

“Good, now if you haven’t done so already, pull Holmes further back into the alley so that no one sees you and alerts the police. Got it?”

“Got it. But Chris!”

Chris had been about to ring off and call Adam to get things moving. He wasn’t confident in Tommy’s ability to stay hidden however he HAD gotten the drop on Holmes and so was fairly impressed. Hopefully he’d be able to make it from the alley to B-Club without getting caught.

“Yes?” Chris said impatiently.

“Don’t you want to know where we are?”

“Good point…”

***

“Adam, Tommy has managed to get Holmes. He’s in an alley three doors down from 221B, next to the vacant house for rent. He’s unconscious but if you could get him here with as few injuries as possible, there’s a bonus in it for you. No one’s to mar that lovely skin but me.”

“Yes, boss.”

“I don’t need to tell you to stay out of sight until it’s dark enough to get him here without being noticed, do I?”

“No, sir. I know my job.”

“And make sure you bin that god awful trench coat that the man always wears. He might as well be wearing a neon sign with his name in lights blinking on and off.”

“Yes, sir.” Although Adam knew his job very well, he wasn’t insulted about being reminded about the details. With the amount of money Chris was paying him, he didn’t care if he sent Tommy to explain everything. The money made it well worth the aggravation.

Adam rang off and headed rapidly to Tommy and Holmes’ location. He didn’t particularly have anything against Holmes but work was work and this was just another job. He only hoped that Tommy didn’t make a hash of it before he could get there.

***

Setting his mobile on his desk, Chris began tapping his fingers on the blotter. Tonight was a special night for Mister Sherlock Holmes. One filled with surprises and pain. A lot of pain. Wouldn’t do to kill him right off. Not after all the money in lost business that he’d caused when Chris had had to drop the kidnapping and forced prostitution setup he’d had going. It had been such a sweet deal too. Well, at least he still had the original batch of whores.

‘Ah!’ He thought. ‘That’s a perfect punishment…to begin with.’ Picking up his mobile again, he called down to one of his hostesses.

“Amy? Yeah. Is room 117 available? It is? Good. Book it for me and have it ready for an evening of BDSM fun. Right. I’ll be down at nine. Oh, and, Amy? Break out the sounding gear and the electric stimulator. I want this to be a night that he remembers for the rest of his brief life.”

Still holding his mobile, Chris leaned back in his chair with a wide satisfied smile on his face. Then he began to laugh, loudly. And if anyone outside of his office heard his somewhat maniacal laughter, well, no one was going to go in there to investigate, even if their life depended on it.


	31. You're Bad At This

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock is brought to Chris for a "talk".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was all one chapter that I broke into three. It was just too long and even though I know you guys like that, I'm hoping that my posting all them right now will pick you up.
> 
> The first two are short but the third is more what you've come to expect from me.
> 
> ***  
> As is also always expected of me: I wrote this all in one tear, no reviews, no edits. I just wrote as it came to me. This is a really bad habit that I have and if I ever grow up to be a real writer, I'll fix it, but until then? If I reread it, you'd never see it.
> 
> Despite the flaws, I think you'll get the gist of it. 
> 
> Debbie  
> ***

***

Sherlock awoke slowly, head pounding, trying to get a fix on his location through blurry eyes. He lay on a table, arms and legs fastened at either end. As he strained against the bonds, he discovered that he’d also been secured to the table at the waist. No leverage there.

“Oh. There he is. There’s our little man! Sorry about the headache. It’s a side effect of those pesky old school sleeping gasses. I hope you’ll forgive its use. It’s just that it was the only drug that I felt fairly confident that Tommy wouldn’t abuse. He can’t be trusted with his own product, you see. And even then, he insisted on “testing” it on himself first. Fortunately, he found out early on that chloroform wasn’t the best choice for a high.” Chris laughed as if his brother had done something adorable.

“Oh! Where are my manners? I should have asked after your health. How are you feeling? Go ahead, be honest. We’re all friends here.” Chris finished with a smile.

Sherlock said nothing. Just nursed his aching head.

Chris continued on as if he’d been answered;

“Headache, huh? What a shame. Dennis will fix you right up.” Chris nodded to someone unseen behind Sherlock. There was suddenly a sharp jab in his neck and his headache began to disappear as if by magic.

“You know, you’re pretty bad at this detective stuff. You keep getting caught.”

“Why am I…naked…” Sherlock ask slowly.

“Oh. That. Seems the first dose of chloroform that Tommy used on you wasn’t enough to keep you out for long so my little brother might have been a little over zealous in holding the handkerchief over your mouth the second time around. And when you started waking up from that, well, let’s just say that I’m glad you made it here at all. 

Regarding your nudity; apparently, your stomach doesn’t handle being gassed all that well and you were sick all over that lovely suit of yours. Since you were going to be naked anyhow, I had one of the staff give you proper cleanup and I believe that your clothes were actually sent to be cleaned. No idea why that happened. It’s not as if you’re ever going to need them again.”

Chris gave Sherlock a searching look. 

“Now, enough smalltalk. Let’s talk about you, Mister Holmes and what I have planned for you this evening…” Chris said, giving a slow smile that showed all of his teeth. 

***

The clinic had been slow so John had been able to wrap up his paperwork fairly quickly actually leaving on time which was a rarity. 

As grateful as he was to be back at work, he found that his thoughts had been consumed by Sherlock. He wondered how he was. What he was doing. He hadn’t heard from Sherlock all day, although that didn’t surprise him, and he’d respected Sherlock’s request for alone time and hadn’t tried to contact him either. It had been a near thing, though. 

He’d found himself reaching for his mobile unaware that he was doing so until he’d looked down and seen it in his hand. This had happened more than once and truth be told, John was a little surprised and embarrassed by his neediness.

Separation anxiety. His first full day away from his mate. Of course he was going to worry. Of course he was going to be on John’s mind all day. It was only natural. Still…deep down inside, John felt as though something was wrong. He’d felt it all day and it had taken every bit of will power he possessed NOT to make that call. But now he could finally leave and listen to Sherlock tell him about his grand adventure during his first day of independence. His first day of ‘freedom.’

He walked to the exit as rapidly as possible trying not to seem too eager; he said goodnight to the doc who was responsible for locking up then was out of doors in record time.

He thought briefly of catching a taxi but he could be at the flat in the time it took just to hail a cab and so he set off at a brisk pace, anxious to see his lover whom he’d missed more than he’d thought possible.

He’d only gone a few blocks when his path was suddenly blocked by a disheveled man holding a coat in his arms as if it was some kind of treasure.

“Doctor Watson…” the man began.

“I’m sorry. I don’t carry cash with me…” John began, intent on pushing right past the man until he realized that he’d been addressed by his name. He looked closer at the man and recognized him as one of the members that made up Sherlock’s homeless network across the city.

“What’s wrong?” John said, instantly alert.

“I was going through the bins near 221B and found Mister Holmes’ coat,” the man said, gesturing with said coat.

“He’s never without it and he’d certainly never leave it in a bin. There’s nothing wrong with it,” the man held Sherlock’s coat out for John’s inspection.

It was Sherlock’s coat, alright. Although a little wrinkled and smelling faintly of garbage, there was no doubt as to the owner.

“Where exactly did you find this?” John asked urgently.

“This way,” the man said, turning and heading rapidly in the direction of their flat. 

The man lead John to an alley that was only three doors down from 221B. It was obvious from the shoe marks that someone had been dragged back behind the bins. Most likely waiting for the cover of darkness.

Putting two and two together, John realized that the person or persons who’d grabbed Sherlock, must have done so almost immediately following their separation this afternoon. When John had turned round and found Sherlock already out of site, he’d been taken into that alley and overpowered and John hadn’t even known it.

“May I have the coat? Please?” John asked somewhat desperately. “I’m sorry but I don’t have any cash at hand but if you’ll come round tomorrow morning…”

“No worries, Doctor Watson. Mister Holmes keeps us well taken care of. Here,” the man said, handing the coat into John’s waiting arms.

“Thank you so much. Did anyone see what happened? Who took him? Where they went?”

“No sir. No one seen anything. There has been that nervous little drug dealer hanging about recently though.”

“Drug dealer? When did you see him? What did he look like?” John asked anxiously, heart sinking; he was pretty sure that he knew the person about to be described, knew where Sherlock had to be. Had absolutely no doubt about it. Why Chris would make such a stupid mistake, well, John didn’t care but he was damn well going to use it to his advantage.

The next thing that he did was to make two very important calls. One to DI Lestrade, the other to Mycroft Holmes. They had a meeting to attend.

***


	32. The Villain Always Talks Too Much

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chris gets chatty. How annoying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know the drill: No review, no edits. Any mistakes? All mine.

***

“You know, until you stumbled into my life, I was a very relaxed, matter of fact kind of person. I never let anyone get under my skin. Never. I handled my business with confidence and without self doubt but you changed all that with one visit to my very successful establishment.” Chris said, pulling a chair next to where Sherlock lay and straddling it.

“Now, however, I will admit too feeling a bit crazed. I’m not quite myself and you’ve done that to me, Mister Holmes. First I gave you a little warning…”

“I’d hardly call rape a ‘little warning’” Sherlock said flatly.

“Please. You should be thanking me. If it hadn’t been for me, you wouldn’t have found a mate, possibly ever. You’re a difficult man to tolerate. Even you must see that.”

“It’s my job. I catch criminals, such as yourself. If that makes me a menace in your eyes, then so be it.”

“Come now. Let’s not be disingenuous. You have a brother who barely tolerates you. A landlady who only puts up with you because you pay her, a detective inspector who keeps you around to solve his cases, and now you have a mate who wouldn’t have chosen you in a million years if it hadn’t been for me. And even then, that mating was purely accidental. A side effect of being drugged in a room full of Omega pheromones. Why, the man never even realized that he was gay before me. So really, you both owe me.”

“We owe you nothing,” Sherlock bit out. Although the words stung, he refused to let he show. He wouldn’t give this man the satisfaction. He’d already taken too much from Sherlock, he wouldn’t be that lucky again.

“Well, I really don’t want to argue with you. We had a truce. Why couldn’t you just stay away.” Chris sighed sounding sincerely disappointed by this outcome.

“What are you talking about? I wasn’t anywhere near here,” Sherlock said, perplexed. Certainly he was going to check the place out covertly but he hadn’t planned on entering the establishment again, not alone. Deep down where he couldn’t examine it too closely, he wouldn’t accept that this man had bested him. No one bested Sherlock Holmes.”

“Why are we even playing this game. My brother was at the police station. He heard you talking about infiltrating B-Club - again. As if you aren’t instantly recognizable. Honestly, Mister Holmes. I thought that you were smarter than that.”

“I never had any intention of coming here. Your brother mis-heard. That or he has something personal against me. Either way, I’m here only because you brought me here. Now what?”

Chris weighed what Sherlock said. Was it possible that his little brother had lied just to get rid of Holmes? Was he so scared of the man that he’d risk their business knowing what his brother’s reaction to such a threat? Yes. He would.

Picking up the house phone, Chris called the front desk.

“Yeah. Gena, is my brother anywhere around? Good. Please pry him away from the bar and send him to room 117. Thanks.”

“Well, Mister Holmes, I must admit that I’m intrigued. I didn’t think that my little brother had it in him to be so manipulative and devious. He might make a good second in command yet. 

There was a knock on the door;

“Come in, Tommy.”

“You wanted to see me, Chris?” Tommy asked, looking around the room nervously then visibly blanching when he saw Sherlock tied to one of their bondage “exam” tables.

“Mister Holmes here was just telling me that you set him up. That he had no intention of coming to B-Club. That you made it all up just so that I would hurt him. Is that true?” Chris asked calmly.

“Well,” Tommy began nervously. “He’s dangerous and it was only a matter of time before he was well enough to start meddling in our business again. He had to be stopped before that happened. I didn’t want him to cause any more trouble,” Tommy finished lamely.

“Interesting. And you couldn’t have just told me about this on your own? You had to lie to me? Your own brother? What? You didn’t trust me to handle anything that Holmes could throw at me? I’m very disappointed in you, Tommy.”

Tommy hung hung his head in shame, tears shining in his eyes.

“I’m sa…sa…sorry, Chris. I’m sorry to have made a mess for you. I really was only trying to help by getting ahead of the problem. I promise that I won’t lie to you again. Please believe me,” Tommy cried earnestly. Chris believed him. This was a teaching moment for Tommy. Time to begin getting him ready for his future role in B-Club. All in all, this was a good thing. Chris could do a lot with this.

“You realize you’ve made me into a murderer,” Chris lied. “I can’t let him go now. He’ll never stop hounding me after this. And even if he swore to, his brother, Irene, hell, his mate would be after him. No. Play time’s over. Now he has to disappear and that’s on you, Tommy. You’re a murderer by association. I ought to make you do the dead yourself,” Chris finished cruelly. He wanted to make an impression on Tommy that he wouldn’t soon forget. Actions had consequences and it was about time that he learned that. Chris watched all the blood drain from Tommy’s face.

“K…ki…kill him? He couldn’t just be beaten?” Tommy ask nervously.

“What? Again? I’ve done everything short of killing him. No, you’ve left me with no choice. He’s gotta go. Maybe put a little thought into things before you make any rash decisions. And definitely come to me for a second opinion so that this never happens again. Got it?”

“Got it. I’m so sorry…I never meant…”

“Just go now. I’m don’t want to see your face for the next few hours and stay out of your product. If I catch you high again, well, I don’t know what I’d do. Understand?”

“Yes. No drugs. I won’t even go near the bar again. I’ll go to my room and wait until you call to see me. Is that right? Please let me make it up to you.” Tommy whined.

“Fine. That’s a good idea. You can call down and have food brought to you but I don’t want to see you until I call you. Now, get out.” Chris said sternly.

“No. Not another word.” Chris halted Tommy as he began to speak again.

Shoulders slumped, Tommy headed for the exit. He couldn’t wait to get out of there. He felt awful for upsetting Chris so much and to make him into a murderer?! He’d never forgive himself for that.

“Oh, and Tommy? Lock the door on your way out.”

Tommy stopped and nodded but didn’t turn around just leaving the room closing the door quietly behind him.

“Now, where were we?”

***


	33. Sound Advice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chris gets down to the business of oddly specific torture.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***  
> Yeah. I suck. No review. No edits. I own all mistakes.

***

“First, allow me to thank you for the opportunity, Mister Holmes! I think that boy might shape up into a good leader yet. It’s gonna take some time to beat some sense into him and knock the whining out but you’ve actually done me a favor. I see Tommy in a new light now and I owe it all to you,” Chris said beaming at Sherlock.

“I’m so proud,” Sherlock said sarcastically.

“Ah! The table’s ready and waiting I see.” Chris leaned over and pulled a table on wheels closer to them. Sherlock couldn’t see what was on it because it was covered in what appeared to be blue surgical paper. 

Chris whipped the paper off the table and on it were displayed rods of various sizes and lengths. All still in their wrappers. Sherlock supposed he should be grateful that his torturer was at least concerned with hygiene. Not that it mattered.

“We sterilize all of our own equipment in house. Saves loads of money as well as those pesky questions about what we’re having cleaned. Plus, this is much more efficient. Finish using one tool, throw it in the sink, someone comes in later and cleans it all up taking it right down to the autoclave. I run a legitimate business here, Mister Holmes. Wouldn’t do to cut corners.”

“How wonderful for you. Are you going to get onto it or is talking to me all night part of the torture because I have to admit; it’s working.”

Ignoring this, Chris stood up, washed his hands throughly and put on latex gloves finishing with a snap.

Walking back to Sherlock, his foot struck something that rolled across the floor and under the table where Sherlock lay waiting for…whatever was about to happen.

Grabbing another glove, Chris used it to carefully pick up the object then studied it closely.

“”To my beloved brother…”” Sherlock snorted.

““May this cane protect you when I cannot. Mycroft.””

“Ugh. I thought that you two didn’t get along?”

“We don’t and I think that it should be patently obvious by the situation in which I currently find myself as well as all the other abuse I’ve suffered at your hands, that my brother’s absolute rubbish at looking out for me.”

“Lucky me! Well, it’s obvious that it means something to him so here,” Chris forced the to of the cane into Sherlock’s resisting hand. “Now when they find your body, he can feel like he at least tried to save you from yourself.”

Sherlock instantly began tapping the cane to the best of his ability, on his bedside.

“Now, now. If you’re going to do that, I’m going to have to take it away from you. Here,” Chris slid the cane down until Sherlock held the top in his grasp.”

“There. Better. You’re going to need something to hang onto. Lovely workmanship on that handle. Custom made. Well, either your brother really does love you or money is no object. I’m going to guess the former. Ok. Let’s get started.” Chris dropped the extra glove in the nearby bin and picked up the case full of gleaming, plastic wrapped metal rods.

“Do you know what these are?” Chris asked, holding them close enough so that Sherlock could see them by slightly lifting his head.

“Of course. Sounds. Stainless steel. Individually wrapped in keeping with your sterile device policy.” Sherlock dropped his head back to the table. 

“And…what are they used for?” Chris prompted.

“If you don’t know, then you shouldn’t be using them,” Sherlock said without looking at Chris.

“It wouldn’t do to upset your torturer. This can start pleasantly, small to large, or I can start with the largest size rod instead. Your choice, Mister Holmes.”

Sherlock sigh, there was no sense making this more painful that it would eventually be.

“They’re for widening the male urethra. Checking the depth, among…other things…” Sherlock trailed off.

“You know, Sherlock. May I call you Sherlock? We’re about to become intimately acquainted.”

Sherlock remained silent, gripping the handle of the gain and staring up at the ceiling.

“No matter. I’ll call you Sherlock. I mean, we should be on a first name basis if I’m going to be holding your cock, let alone shoving rods into it.”

Sherlock shuddered but remained stubbornly silent.

“I don’t need you to talk. I’ll be the narrator. Sounding is a very popular fetish. I’ve had it done to me and have done it to others many, many times so you’re not dealing with a novice here.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes but but remained staring at the ceiling.

“In fact, we have a great deal of medical kink customers and sounds make a great tool for BDSM. There’s nothing like gradually sliding a sound in your sub and watching them shiver with anticipation and anxiety. We’re talking about a very delicate area, after all. Let’s go all out with the medical fetish part.”

Chris stood up and pulled a what Sherlock assumed was also sterile paper drape and used it to cover him from head to toe. There was a hole conveniently left open which was centered directly over his cock.

Pulling Sherlock’s cock through the hole, Chris smiled down at him. Patting the drape he said;

“There, the illusion of privacy. You won’t feel so exposed and can almost imagine that it’s happening to someone else - at first. As I move to the larger sizes though, that might become slightly more difficult to do.” 

Chris began systematically unwrapping the sounds and placing them surprisingly gently on the tray. 

Chris picked up and held it next to Sherlock’s flaccid penis, measuring.

“Looks we can go two sizes up. Well, that saves some time.”

Sherlock couldn’t resist a peak and gulped at the size of the steel rod that was about to be inserted into him.

“I heard that. Don’t be afraid. I know what I’m doing.” Chris tore open a packet and began squeezing the contents onto Sherlock’s cock head. It made him feel cold followed by numbness. 

“First times can be…stressful, so I’m using a numbing lube to get started. After the next rod, it’ll just be lube but it wouldn’t be torture if you couldn’t feel it now, would it?” Chris asked, placing the packed of lube on the table, he picked up the third, and what seemed incredibly large, sound and held it next to his cock, confirming his opinion that he’d picked the right size to start with.

Chris stuck the end of the sound into the packet of numbing lube and then place the stainless steel tip to Sherlock’s urethral opening.

“Now, this is going to feel a little weird at first. Almost as if you have to pee but that will pass. I wouldn’t make any sudden moves, were I you. Wouldn’t want to damage your urethra or puncture your bladder. Ouch!”

“Here we go.” Chris surprisingly gently, began sliding the stainless steel rod into Sherlock’s urethra pausing when he bottomed out.

“There! See! Not so bad.”

It hadn’t hurt. Sherlock had felt the rod slid in but he felt, full. Chris was right; it did feel like he had to pee.

“How’s that?” Chris asked, slowly turning the sound inside of Sherlock who gave a gasp of surprise. 

“Ah. Prostate. Don’t be embarrassed if you get hard. It’s a natural part of the stimulation process. Just go with it. You might even find that you enjoy it.” 

Chris slid that sound slowly out and reached for the next size up which seemed to Sherlock to be twice as large as the first rod.

“You know. That first one went so well, let’s dispense with the numbing lube and just use lube. It’s not like I want to cause you any unnecessary damage. You keep laying still like that and it’ll be over in no time!”

What would “be over in no time” Sherlock wondered. He had absolutely not idea where this was headed but he was beginning to sweat. He grasped the cane more tightly in his right hand. How much longer? He must have been missed by know and where else could he possibly be? The moron had taken him right to his base of operations. He had to know that that was the first place they’d look for him. They had to come looking for him, didn’t they? 

Sherlock gasped as the larger sound penetrated him and this one stung.

“Too fast. Sorry about that. I should to be more careful but I was distracted by the fact that you’re not paying attention to what’s going on.” Chris flicked the tip of the sound and Sherlock felt it vibrate all the way down to his bladder.

“There. Now I have your attention. Unfortunately, he missed most of the insertion so I’m just going to hurry this along and move straight ahead to the largest sound. I mean, if you could stop and daydream, you must be ready for the big boy.”

Sherlock tensed as he watch in morbid fascination as Chris lubed up the final sound in the kit. He’d been serious; this one was about the size of a small pinky and it was going into him. All of it.

“Last one. Don’t worry. I’ll be gentle.” And true to his word, Chris slowly, agonizingly slowly, slid the final rod into Sherlock’s cock. It felt as if his penis was on fire and he couldn’t hold in the sob that escaped him or the tear that leaked from one eye. He couldn’t imagine anyone getting sexually aroused from thi

“All done; for now. Onto the next step. Electro stimulation. I really think you’re going to like this one.” Chris had a mad glint in his eye that was finally what pushed Sherlock over the edge from nervous calm into full blown panic. His grip tightened on the head of his cane as if to a lifeline. 

“Have you ever tried electro stimulation? No. Of course not.” Chris said when Sherlock didn’t answer.

“I’m going to take this lovely stainless steel butt plug and shove it up your arse. See this electrodes on the bottom?” Sherlock watched as Chris pointed to the two prongs that had wires hooked to them.

“Well, you know what. Let it be a surprise. You like surprises, don’t you?”

“No.” Sherlock stated flatly.

“Oh. He speaks. Wonderful. I expected you to be very vocal during this part either way. Now, let’s just dilate you so that this plug can be easily inserted. It’s not very large and it only needs to reach your prostate anyway.”

Chris lifted the sheet covering Sherlock’s bottom and slid a well lubed finger into him causing an involuntary gasp. 

“My goodness, you’re tight. Not a bottom, I take it. Well, this will be more fun for both of us then!”

The finger was removed and Sherlock briefly felt cold air against his bottom before the steel was pressed against his anus then slid fully into him stopped only by the handle on the end. It wasn’t uncomfortable, exactly, but he wasn’t enjoying it and the wires were especially worrisome.

“Don’t worry. That won’t slip out.” Chris said, covering Sherlock with the sheet once again.

“I’ll be you’re wondering what those sounds were for, weren’t you? Well, I needed to stretch you to make a perfect circuit. See this?” Chris held up a large what appeared to be beaded sound tipped on the end with a rubber cap that was also connected to electrodes on the other end.

“Do you know how bull semen is collected, Sherlock? A bull’s prostate is stimulated by and electric shock. It takes an experienced hand to know the right frequency to use. Too much, well, it would be very painful. Not enough? You’d barely feel it and where’s the fun in that. I’m going to make you come.”

Sherlock shook his head in denial. The man had become completely unhinged.

“Yes, I am and there’s not a damned thing you can do about it. The only difference is that even though you’ll come, the sound will keep it from escaping. That’s going to be uncomfortable. Maybe I’ll let you finish. I haven’t decided yet. Didn’t plan this far. Frankly, most of my victims are either dead or are working for me now.”

“I’m not a victim,” Sherlock said softly.

“What’s that?”

“I’m NOT a victim!” Sherlock yelled.

“Well, I have some experience with victims and trust me when I tell you; they all looked just like you do now. I’m afraid that I’ve just allowed myself to enjoy you a little too long. Wouldn’t do for your mate or brother to come looking for you. Let’s finish what we started, shall we?”

Chris hooked both leads to a small device laying on the table. Sherlock could see a dial on it and knew that it must be what controlled the current. He could get through this. He WOULD get through this! H didn’t care what Chris said; he was nobody’s victim! 

Sherlock tightened his hand on the head of the cane in frustration while Chris finished hooking things up. This time though, he felt it give a little. 

‘Ah, Mycroft. ‘For use when I can’t be there to protect you.’’ It made sense. Such a gaudy gift wasn’t something you’d expect to receive from Mycroft. 

That Mycroft gave him a gift at all should have tipped him off that something was up. Dammit. All this time he’d been laying here like a, like a god damned victim! Sherlock Holmes was NOT a victim or a damsel in distress. And he’d damn well save himself.

***


	34. Shock Therapy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sexual torture ahead. You've warned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wrote the next three chapters all in one go so the usual warnings apply. 
> 
> Unreviewed, spelling and continuity errors are all mine.

***

Sherlock watched as Chris turned his back on him and began…wait. Was he…yes, he was, he was singing to himself and not in what Sherlock would consider a quiet manner. He clearly didn’t expect to be interrupted. 

Chris began setting things up in an unusually careful manner to what seemed to be to Sherlock, unnecessarily precise measurements - a careful torturer, then - with OCD - lovely. 

Sherlock made use of the noise and time to run his fingers around the candle looking for the recessed switch that he knew had to be there. Ah! Found it! He pressed the indentation lightly, it made a barely audible click as the well oiled mechanism began relived the cane of it’s prize. The more expensive sword canes had a little more pressure to release the entire thing. This was to avoid accidentally skewering someone. and cloud feel the base separating from the handle should the sheath fly off a an unsuspecting victim. Sherlock alternately cursed and was grateful for the security of the device; it wouldn’t do to have the can crashing to the floor before he had the chance to at least free one wrist. 

He wished that he could see what he was doing but the blast blue paper covered him to the neck so he could go by touch alone. He could feel the nicks on his fingers now as more of the blade because accessible. He only hoped that Chris didn’t notice the slowly increasing droplets on the floor.

He had to be careful less the entire shell slide off and clatter to the floor giving him away. He quietly pressed the notch again and another inch was reviled to show the blade inside and it was wick sharp, just as he’d expected. He’d have to thank Mycroft…one day…maybe…he wasn’t out yet.

“There we are! Ready? I think you’re going to really like this one. In his had Chris held a small electronic box with on dial on it, electric wires dangling from under the sheets to what Sherlock took to be connected to the devices attached to Sherlock. He was nervous. He couldn’t lie about that. Two much current and he’d be in agony. The sound had yet to make its appearance again.

“Oh! Where are my manners. You’d probably like to see this! It is for you, after all. Without waiting for an answer, Chris walked to Sherlock, device in hand and showing it to him as if it was his greatest achievement.

“Now, these things usually have more than one level of circuit to top off on but I found them to be unnecessary. After all, I’ve done these hundreds of times. I know the perfect pressure points so I had the device adjusted accordingly. Oh, it doesn’t immediately jump from one extreme to the next - unless I want it to, and Mister Holmes, trust me when I tell you that you don’t want me to. So there are still the little electrical ramp up feels. You know, for when I want to build the suspense.

Oh no! I can see I’m losing your attention. Can’t have you get bored. Best get this sound back in there and begin the festivities. You’ve never felt anything like it. Trust me. “Chris said, patting Sherlock’s hip.

Picking up the soon to be electrified sound, Chris tapped it on his finger for a few moments, apparently lost in though.

He suddenly turned his gaze to Sherlock whose blood had begun making a rather impressive puddle next to him. ‘Please don’t look down. Please don’t look down.’ But Sherlock was in luck, if you could call it that. Chris had eyes only on Sherlock’s exposed cock. 

“I wasn’t going to use lube for this oner but it seemed too cruel. I can hurt you in other ways after all. Starting now.

Chris slid the lubricated, beaded wand slowly into Sherlock’s urethra stopping when he got a reaction from Sherlock.

“Ah! Hit the prostate on the first time. Aren’t you lucky!

Chris laid the device and it’s associated wires, onto Sherlock’s stomach to check that the butt plug was still in place.

“Here’s the most gently pulse. Don’t worry. It doesn’t hurt. It just feels awkward.” Chris said, turning the dial to the first mark.

Sherlock suddenly felt his skin ripple almost as if hundreds of ants were crawly inside of him. He did not find this pleasurable at all. He gave a small moan and fought to bring his attention to rubbing the blade back and forth against the one cuff.

‘Concentrate on the escape. Nothing else matters. It’s only transport.’

“AHHHH!” Sherlock screamed out.

“You let your mind wander again. Can’t have that. But at least you have a small taste of what the third dial is capable of. Why, I could have you on the floor, a puddling, drooling mess begging for my mercy. I had to go all the way back to one. What. A. Waste!” Chris turned the dial up and down to emphasize each word.

Sherlock broke out into a sweat. He wasn’t sure that he’d be able to keep a hold of the cane much less come out of this particular brand mentally intact. He was holding it together but just barely. Too much more of this and he’d be lock away.

“Ok. Starting at one again and I’d appreciate it you gave me your undivided attention this time. You know what could happen.”

Yes, Sherlock knew but he knew something else too. He’d just managed to cut through the bond on his hand. Being at a serve, one handed advantage, he’d have to time everything just right.

“Ok. This is one again. How’s it feel?” Sherlock didn’t reply so Chris twisted the dial back and forth a bit,

“Don’t play games with me, Sherlock. This can be an enjoyable experience or a ‘begging for death’ one. Which shall it be?” Chris turned the box around to Sherlock and showed him where he’d moved the dial. It was closer to the spot that Chris had indicated could be pleasurable. Although Sherlock highly doubted it.

“Well?”

“My…my skin is crawling.” Sherlock got out, still gripping his cane.

“Ok, here we go to the magic number. It will most definitely feel weird at first but then you’ll begin to enjoy it. I promise. Do you believe me?”

“Ye…esss…ess…” Sherlock lied. Anything to avoid that third setting.

“Hold onto your cane! Here we go!” Chis turned the dial to the middle and Sherlock’s world whited out.

“Hey. Hey Sherlock. I think that sound and butt plug might be too much for you at first, you being a novice and all. Don’t worry, I removed the sound while you were out. This is the way I wanted it to go at all. We’re just going to go with the butt plug then. Much more enjoyable with someone unused to this type of play.

“People actually pay you to do this to them?” Sherlock asked in disbelief.

“Yes. Many. More than you’d imagine. I’ve had half of Parliament down here at one time or another.”

“No. I believe it. Most of them do walk around like they have something stuffed up their arse all the time.”

“Oh. The stories I could tell you…”

“Not interest.”

“Anxious to get back to the torture, my little victim. You really are my best victim though. I mean, it might seem like a lot to you but I’ve barely scratched the surface of what I plan to do.”

This stopped Sherlock and he turned looked at Chris. What is Sherlock’s imagination or did the man seem certifiably insane now.

“I thought that you were going to kill me.” Sherlock began as he felt the tremors again. It wasn’t as intense as when the sound had been added but it wasn’t enjoyable either.

“Well, you know, I was going to, I really was but you’re, let’s face it, you’re just to beautiful to waste like that. Not right away anyhow. Maybe when I tire of you. I predict that won’t happen for a long, long time.”

“My mate and my brother. They’ll know to look for me here.” Sherlock said anxiously.

Chris laughed. “You think that a place like this doesn’t haver secret rooms? Why, this room for instance, 117. It specifically set aside for bondage. It’s sound proof and the door blends into the walls seamlessly. So while the’ll probably find this room eventually, you won’t be in it by then.”

Sherlock slammed his head against the table once. If it was only Scottland Yard looking for him, he was a dead man.

“My mate will find me!” Sherlock proclaimed.

“With all of the ripe Omega pheromones in the air? The only thing that he’ll be finding is his cock. Oh, and think how terrible he’ll feel when he realizes that he was jerking off the entire time you were being tortured. Hard to live with guilt like that, I’ll bet.”

“Next surge. Ready?” Chris didn’t wait, just turned the dial up to center of the box. The part that her said would feel good. Well, Sherlock didn’t feel good. His teeth were rattling, his entire body was shaking and the cane had almost vibrated out of his hand twice. ‘Just ignore it. Just ignore...’

“GOD FUCK IT TO HELL! STOP! FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, STOP!” Sherlock screamed.

“Pay attention then. Don’t act like you hadn’t been warned once already. Now, behave and we won’t have to go past the second dial and I promise you, you’ll thank me.” Chris turned the dial back to middle and this time Sherlock made sure to pay attention.

“Paying attention now?” Chris asked, twisting the dial up just a fraction.

“Yes. Yes. Just. Please stop.” Sherlock begged.

“Well, ok. If you’ve learned your lesson. If there’s a next time though, I’ll turn it all the way to three and leave you like that. Got it?” The smile had left Chris’ voice. It was cold and calculating, a glimpse of the sane murderer, if he could be called sane but then it was gone.

“See? That wasn’t so difficult. Here’s what I’ll do, I’ll slowly increase the speed from one until you’ve attained an erection.

“Won’t happen.”

“Please, Sherlock. We both know it will. I even did you a favor by removing the sound so you won’t have any obstacles when you orgasm. Isn’t that thoughtful of me? Well? I can’t hear you.” Chris showed Sherlock his hand on the dial again.

“Yes. Very thoughtful. That doesn’t work on everyone though. What will you do when I don’t come?” Sherlock asked, as belligerently as he dared.

“Oh, please. Is that a dare? Alright, I’ll edge you first but you’re going to wish you’d just come.”

Chris turned the dial up slowly. Sherlock felt his insides to begin to slightly quiver. He closed his eyes and breathed heavily through his nose. This would not get the best of him. 

“Oh, you can ignore me this time. Your cock is all I’m interested in at the moment and he beginning to seem very interested to me too.

Sherlock opened his eyes. It was true. His cock was getting hard against his will. He began panting. It almost felt…good. That couldn’t be allowed! He would not give in.

His cock slowly softened and he relaxed.

Chris watched Sherlock’s face waiting for that moment when he thought it was all over. And that’s when he got to the middle dial causing Sherlock’s hips to rise off the bed.

Chris turned the dial back and Sherlock relaxed although his cock remained its semi turgid position.

“Now, I could edge you all day AND enjoy it too but the fact is that I have a business to run and I’ve already been here way over the time I’d originally allotted for these fun and games. So I’m afraid we’re going to have to go straight to the orgasm. I never feel finished until one happens and since it’s my game, that’ll be you. Don’t worry that I’m being neglected. I’ll be back to fuck you up the arse later.” Chris turned the dial to the middle and let it stay there, just watching Sherlock try to fight the impending orgasm. 

“No sense struggling. You’re trapped. You really are the perfect victim. You are incredibly resilient; I can do whatever I want to you and you’ll just bounce back. Yes. I think I’ll keep you for a long, long time.” Chris pulled up a chair to watch as Sherlock’s cock grew more and more turgid against his will.

“What a thing of beauty. You’re already lasted longer than the others. Why not accept it. Let yourself go with the pleasure. It’s going to happen with or without your cooperation so lean back and relax. It’ll be over that much faster then. Not to pressure you too much but I won’t leave until you come. I don’t know if that’s any kind of encouragement to move this along but it certainly would be for me.”

Chris watched him a little longer then snapped his fingers!

“I know what would finish this up.” Chris walked over to the drawer and pulled out something the size of a flashlight only it appeared to be covered in latex. 

Chris brought the device back placing it in full view of Sherlock. There were garishly painted lips on it.

“This here is going to be your final stray. I don’t have time to set up a proper milking machine but I’m pretty sure that this will do for your first time.”

Chris began to place the artificial mouth around Sherlock’s now rock hard cock then realized that he’d forgotten the lube.

“Wouldn’t do to hurt our star player now, would it.” Chris squirted a, what seemed to Sherlock, ridiculous amount of lube on the device then slid it slowly over his cock.

It was moist and cold but quickly warmed to body temperature. Chris gave Sherlock’s cock a few tentative strokes then turned on the device. Sherlock couldn’t help himself as his hips tried to rise off the table. It felt obscenely good and he couldn’t make it stop. He couldn’t concentrate on resisting between the pulsing against his prostate and being fucked by that, that thing up his arse.

‘Should I just give in? Get it over with? I won’t have much choice in a moment either way, seems like. Fine, I’ll do so on my terms.’

Ignoring Chris’ rapt attention that was switching between Sherlock’s face and cock, Sherlock finally gave in and released what seemed to him to be an excessive amount of come, screaming; “John, John, JOHN!!” As he he did so. He relaxed, defeated, onto the table. Humiliated.

“Now see? That wasn’t so bad, was it? You’ll get used to it after we’ve done it for a few months. You’ll probably come just seeing me pull this baby out.” Chris smiled.

***


	35. The Enemy Of My Enemy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock finds help from an unexpected source.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not beta's. Not reviewed. You know. The usual.

***

“Well, duty calls. All of my support staff are handling other customers so I’m afraid that Adam is going to have to do double duty as your kidnapper and cleanup crew. See you soon, darling.” Chris gave Sherlock and blew a kiss at him as he headed to a table where a phone was hard wired to avoid cellular spies.

“Hey, Adam. I have a job for you that’s out of your job description but one for which you will be well compensated for. Yes? And that’s why you’re my right hand man. 

I need you to run cleanup for me in room 117. No, no. No cleaning in the usual sense. I have Mister Holmes down there and he might be a little worse for the ware and need some help getting cleaned up and dressed. Leave everything to the cleaning crew. Holmes is my number one priority. And don’t hurt him if you can avoid it, he’s going to be our guest for awhile. Take him to my panic room and lock him in. I don’t want any interruptions. Ok. Good. I have work to do. I’ll check in on our visitor later.”

Just another day on the job for Adam. There was rarely cleanup. The boss must haver made a bloody mess of this one.

Adam slipped into the room unnoticed by the man on the table. He could be unconscious if the implements strewn about the room were anything to go by. Still, this WAS Sherlock Holmes and no matter how bad he looked right now, Adam would be a fool to let his defenses down.

Adam was a very careful man and took in all the details of the room at a glance. Ugh. That electrode thing again. That was the boss’ thrill of the moment. Adam moved closer. The poor bastard was laid out like a sacrifice.

Adam walked around the table and discovered a pool of now congealed blood dripping from beneath the sheet. What the hell had gone on in here?

Adam had seen the boss torture many a deserving victim in this room but never one who was better controlled from a distance. This man. This Sherlock Homles, was not a good choice in the first place. His brother was a powerful man in the government and his mate might only be a retired military man and a doctor, but Adam still felt a sense of unease about him. He knew a man with barely leashed violence and Watson was definitely on of those. Watson was actually the one that he worried about more than the brother which didn’t make any sense. But he was a wildcard. Unpredictable. He’d have to watch his back more than usual.

And in the second place, Holmes hadn’t really done anything but mess up a slave ring which was fine as far as he was concerned. There were plenty of people willing too sell their bodies, this was just cruelty for cruelty’s sake. Still, it was a job and he’d done and said nothing it making him complicit in the whole thing.

This though. Maybe he was half in love with this man by now. Either way, he certainly hadn’t deserved a fraction of what had been done to him. 

“Mister Holmes,” Adam said as he walked closer. No response.

“Mister Holmes, I can tell that you're conscious and by the fact that you’re holding that cane like a life line. Further more, the boss might not have noticed the blood seeping into the sheet above the hand holding that cane but that’s why they pay me the big bugs. To notice this kinds of things. Kindly drop the cane, if you please.”

Silence.

“Ok. Let’s try something else because I’m not dumb enough to get any closer to you. Especially since I seriously doubt that you cut yourself on what appears to be a very expensive wooden cane. I don’t want to do this but I see that you’re hooked up to one of the boss’ juvenile electric charge machine. It’s close enough for me to reach before you can catch me with whatever’s going on beneath the cover. So do us all a favor and drop it.”

Still silence.

“Fine.” Adam grabbed the box and without delay, automatically turned it to three. The cane clattered to the floor along with a long line of pleading interspersed with cursing. Adam shut the box off.

“Why my boss let you keep that cane is beyond me. Giving Sherlock Holmes a cane. Of all the…” Adam pulled the sheet off of Sherlock gently avoiding his cock that was still hooked up to the milking toy. Adam grimaced.

“You have my sincerest apologies for how you’ve been treated, Mister Holmes. This was originally just a bordello, and a well thought of one at that, but then Irene brought Chris in to take over this side of her ever expanding business and let him have free reign, which he did.” 

Sherlock slowly opened his eyes to watch as Adam systematically removed all the devices from his aching body but still did not move. He didn’t think this was a trap but wasn’t sure and better safe than sorry.

As Adam began work on untying Sherlock from the table, he kept a running dialogue.

“Chris will have to consider this my resignation. I didn’t sign up for this kind of nonsense. Muscle, yes, but kidnapping and torture of innocent people? No. I’ve saved enough money aside that I needn’t work for quite awhile. Possibly never, if I play my cards right.” He helped Sherlock sit up who almost toppled over.

“Lost a lot of blood.” Adam picked up the cane with the slightly exposed blade. Beautiful piece of workmanship. Since I doubt you trust me, you hold onto it,” he said, handing Sherlock the cane which he promptly set on the floor to stable himself.

“Let’s treat that cut first. It’s pretty deep and all the moving we’re going to start doing, won’t do it any favors. I can’t have you passing out from blood loss.” Sherlock waited patiently as his wrist was seen to.

“Ok. I brought your clothes over. I’m afraid that you only have pajamas and slippers but better than nothing.” Adam said, helping Sherlock dress.

“Stay next to me and hang on. I’m not sure how much strength you have left. And make use of that cane.”

“Oh. I will.”

***


	36. I Can Save Myself

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock saves himself and it's pretty gruesome and OOC. If you're squeamish. Don't read it. And if you read it anyhow, I told you not to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think Sherlock's suffered enough, don't you?
> 
> *******  
> DON'T DESPAIR. STILL ONE MORE CHAPTER LEFT.

***

They exited the room behind the wall to find the place virtually empty except for the bartender and the hostess on duty.

“Where is everyone?” Sherlock asked nervously.

“It’s a business, everyone’s at work and…,” Adam checked his watch, “They’ve just started so we have time.”

“What about those two,” Sherlock said nodding to the hostess and bartender.

“You’re not the first bloke I’ve had to throw out of here. Happens all the time.”

“Wait.” Sherlock said, stopping in the middle of the lobby.

“What are you doing? They might not notice someone being escorted out but they’re certainly going to remember a sightseer.”

“I want to go to the panic room.” Sherlock said firmly.

“What? No. You don’t. Do you have a death wish?” 

“Yes. But not mine. He’s not there right now, is he?” Sherlock sounded calm. Eerily calm. Truth be told, it spooked Adam a little.

“No, but he will be and you don’t want to be there when he shows up.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. I need to explain to him that I’m not a victim.” Sherlock said in an emotionless voice.

“By heading right back into danger? You’re mad.” 

“Maybe but as long as that man’s alive, I’ll always be looking over my shoulder. No. He has to die and at my hands.”

“Are you alright?” 

“Do I look alright to you?”

Adam looked at the disheveled, clearly hurting man and replied;

“No sir. Of all the things that you look like right now, ‘alright’ is definitely not one of them.”

“If you’re so worried. Just show me where to go and leave.”

“Can’t do that Mister Holmes. I’m supposed to be guarding that door and if I’m not there, he’ll suspect something.”

Sherlock stood looking at him. There was no doubt about it, Adam thought, he was in love with this man. Goddamn it!

“Fine. I’ll come along and guard the door but the room is sound proof so I won’t be able to hear any calls for help.”

“That’s fine. I don’t expect this to take long. Give me about 20 minutes. Thirty, tops. You have the code to get in though, correct? Take me to the room, if you please.”

Adam led Sherlock through many hallways until they reached a blank wall. Pushing one edge lightly, the wall popped open on well oiled hinges. Beyond lay a stainless steel security door, complete with a window, code panel and emergency exits. Adam typed in the code; WGP09384587pgZX. The door opened as the airlock was disengaged.

“Thank you.” Sherlock began to walk in.

“Wait.” Adam held an arm in front of him.

“What?”

“I’m supposed to arrange you in a certain way so that you’ll be…ready for him.” Adam didn’t know why he was being so squeamish. He wasn’t new to the job, after all.

“Fine.” Sherlock stated and watched as Adam pulled the wall closed followed by the airlock.

“Take your clothes off.”

“No.”

“What are you going to do in your condition? Hide behind the door and bash him over the head?”

“I hadn’t decided yet,” Sherlock admitted.

“You’re supposed to be splayed out on the bed, naked on satin sheets, uncovered. There’s a window in the door. Explain to me a way around that.” Adam finished.

“I can take the top off leave the bottoms on,” Sherlock suggested.

“You’re such a clever man but you’re not thinking very well at the moment. Take your clothes off and lay on the bed, naked and splayed out.” Adam said patiently.

“How can I protect myself in such a vulnerable position?” Sherlock felt as if all of his synapses were off line. He felt stupid and the thought depressed him.

“You’ll have your cane next to you in the sheets for one thing. I suggest you finish removing it from its sheath.”

Sherlock looked down at the cane he’d been carrying but had completely forgotten. He hit the button a few more times and the blade slid quietly from the scabbard.

Adam gave a low whistle. “Beautiful. Ok.” Adam kicked the scabbard under the bed while Sherlock undressed and lay on top of the satin sheets feeling small and powerless.

“Don’t look like that. You’re one of the smartest and bravest men I’ve ever met. I won’t leave you hanging.”

Sherlock looked into Adam’s serious eyes and knew that he meant it.

“Thanks.”

“No problem.” Adam hid the blade carefully between the sheets and the bed, placing the handle into Sherlock’s hand sliding both blade and Sherlock’s bandaged wrist beneath so that Chris wouldn’t notice either.

“It won’t be long now. Good luck.” 

Adam exited the room resetting all the locks. He finished by closing the hidden door and standing guard. Now all Sherlock had to do was wait. 

***

Chris walked up to Adam with a smile on his face.

“Any problems?”

“Not a one, sir. He seemed exhausted and lost in himself. Didn’t say a word.”

“Well, I’ll change that. Open everything up, please.”

Sherlock, who had been waiting with ill concealed impatience, happened to see through the window that the outer wall/door was about to be opened so he hurriedly closed his eyes, feigning sleep. He hoped that it worked better on Chris than it had on Adam.

“That will be all. Thank you Adam,” Chris said without turning to watch him leave.

Chris walked over to Sherlock, grinning all the way. When he was just at the foot of the bed, he sat down and said;

“You know, I think that Adam’s might have a crush on you. He certainly took care to lay you out for me. Not a mark on you! Well, other than your raw urethra. That’s gotta hurt. Here, let me put some numbing cream on it. I’m not a complete monster.” Chris said, opening the bedside drawer and pulling out a tube of cream. 

As Chris sat down next to Sherlock, he trapped the tip of the blade in the sheets and so Sherlock had to endure the further humiliation of the beginnings of an erection due to the touch and relief from pain.

“Oh. I think you like this. Doesn’t it feel better?”

Chris set the cream down on the table.

“Turn over on your side and let me check for damage in the back. You did struggle a bit, better safe than sorry.”

Chris picked up the tube of cream again, applied it generously to his index finger then unerringly found Sherlock’s anus on the first try. He gave a few pumps then removed his finger and wiped it off on the sheet.

“Well, sad to say that we’re going to have to rest those two areas for a day or so. There’s some chaffing and rawness. Wouldn’t do to put you out of commission for too long just because I was too impatient to wait until you’d healed. You DO have a perfectly serviceable mouth, however, so I guess we’ll go with that for now.”

Sherlock remained staring impassively.

“Oh, love, don’t look at me like that! Trust me, you’ll soon become eager for my attentions, for my cock down your throat and up your arse. Why, I might not even share you with anyone else. You’re special. You don’t break, you bend. Not that I won’t try to break you but I suspect that’s going to take awhile and I love a challenge so…”

Chris rapidly removed his clothes, shoes and socks and crawled slowly up Sherlock’s body until he was leaning on his chest, making it difficult for Sherlock to breathe. Still, he kept hold of his sword.

“Now remember, no biting. You bite me and so much worse will happen to you. And just in case you think I’m a complete idiot, I brought you something.” Chris reached into the open drawer and pulled out what looked like two small pieces of foam.

“I see that you’re curious. Dental dams. They’re to help keep the mouth open during dental work. Now, naturally I couldn’t get you the adult size; I want to feel this, after all. So I picked up the child size. They won’t choke you, they won’t affect your ability to feed from my cock and best of all! They’ll keep you jaw from snapping shut. By accident, of course. I’m sure that you’d never hurt me intentionally. Now, open wide.”

Sherlock turned his head away, trying to slide the sword through the satin it was currently trapped in.

“Come on. Don’t be like that and I won’t have to hurt you,” he said giving Sherlock’s nipple a violent pinch. Sherlock opened his mouth and tried not to gag as the tiny rubber pieces were put between his molars causing his jaw to remain slightly open.

“There! That’s better! Now I can trust you. Well, I really should have had Adam tie you up but I don’t think that you have any fight left in you today.”

Chris lifted himself on his haunches and leaned forward slowly sliding his cock into Sherlock’s mouth. Sherlock tried to bite down but couldn’t.

“Use your tongue, lick it. And your lips, they can still form an ‘O’, tighten them up. I want to feel something!”

Chris began fucking Sherlock’s mouth, eyes closed in bliss.

“I wasn’t sure that this would be any good but it’s fantastic, actually. You wanting to hurt me, bite my cock but unable to because your jaws are locked open. Why, I could cut off your breathing at a moment’s notice; your life depends on my generosity. Aren’t you grateful?” Chris withdrew his cock and Sherlock could do nothing but nod angrily. The sword was almost loose. He was going to gut this bastard.

“Ok. Open up. Oh!” Chris laughed. “I almost forgot. That’s all you CAN do right now, isn’t it. Well, make that nice ‘O’ like before and I’ll just slide right on in. Don’t forget the licking. Especially the head. That’s my favorite part.” Chris threw his head back, closed his eyes and sighed in anticipation of the pleasure that Sherlock was about to provide him.

“My prisoner. You’re trapped. All mine to do with as I please. What was that word that set you off?” Chris asked quizzically. “Ah, yes. Victim. You’re my victim in every sense of the word. The great Sherlock Holmes falling victim to a common whore house owner.” Chris began pumping faster while Sherlock finally finished cutting through the satin.

“Yeah. That’s it. Move a little. I like it. You’re really good at this. That Watson trained you well! I’ll have to thank him some day. Oh, oh! That’s it, I’m going to come! Yes! Roll your tongue around my head the way I told you to! Do it! NOW!”

While Chris was in the throws of his orgasm, Sherlock pulled the sharp side of the blade across Chris’ back who screamed in agony.

Sherlock looked at the blood pouring down and then at his sword and smiled. Spitting out Chris’ come and the dental damns, Sherlock said;

“Nice weapon. Even at that bad angle, I think that I hit both your ribs. Now, get the fuck off me.” Sherlock said, kicking Chris away.

Chris lay moaning in agony on his back. He rolled back and forth trying to find some relief but none came.

Sherlock walked around the bed and prodded a hip with his toe. 

“I’d get moving were I you. I’ve been wanting revenge for awhile and I’m not feeling very generous or patient.”

Chris rolled onto his stomach and began dragging himself from the bed. 

“I’d advise you to go faster. I’m losing my patience.” Sherlock said calmly then smacked Chris’ arse with the flat of his sword.

Chris obligingly picked up his pace.

“I still think that you might need some encouragement.” Sherlock pulled his sword arm up and gently, somewhat gently, brought the sharp side of the blade down on his thighs neatly severing Chris’ hamstrings.”

Chris screamed in agony.

“Oops. Don’t know my own strength.” 

Sherlock watched as Chris dragged himself to the door by his arms.

“I don’t know what you think you’re going to do when you get there. You can’t walk and your right achilles tendon has been sliced completely through.”

“What? NOOOO!” Chris screamed.

“Yep.” Sherlock caught the tendon right on the back neatly severing it. 

“More screaming? Really Chris? I thought that you’d be a tougher…victim than this. Tsk tsk.”

Sherlock looked at the clock on the wall.

“Dammit. Our time together is almost over. Oh, stop screaming. No one can hear you. And stop pulling yourself around the carpet. Do you know how hard it is to get blood out of a white carpet because I don’t but Mrs Hudson probably does so maybe you could ask her.”

Chris still dragged himself across the floor towards the door and was within eight feet of reaching it.

“Ah, ah, ah. You mind your manners and wait until the door’s opened.” Sherlock raised his blade fitting the point neatly between Chris’ other achilles tendon and heal bone effectively pinning him to the floor.

“I said stay still. Are all victims this difficult? Honestly.”

Then Sherlock sat on the end of the bed, leaned his head on the handle of his sword and waited for his mate and his brother to ‘rescue’ him.

***

Adam looked through the window in the airlock and almost vomited from the amount of blood that he could see. It was everywhere and he hadn’t even opened the door yet.

“Hurry up, damn you!” Demanded Mycroft but allowed John to push his way through first. He gave a brief glance down at the man who seemed to be pinned to the floor by a sword…

“Ah. So so it was of some use. I hoped that it would be. Although,“ and here Mycroft’s nose turned up, “this is a little over the top, don’t you think, brother?”

John ran to Sherlock and mindless of the blood, wrapped his arms around him pulling him close.

“Sherlock. Sherlock? Are you alright? Is any of this blood yours. Are you hurt?”

“I cut myself earlier. Adam fixed it for me.” This was said in a worrisomely dreamy sounding voice.

“Sherlock? Sherlock. Look at me.” But all Sherlock did was stare at the man on the ground bleeding everywhere and moaning piteously.

“Get the emergency medical personel in here. He’s in shock.”

“Not in shock, John. Relieved.” Sherlock turned to look at John then his eyes promptly rolled into the back of his head and he fainted; John catching him on his way to the floor.

“Jesus Christ!” Lestrade exclaimed. “Was there a massacre in here? How many bodies are we looking at?”

“Just the one pinned to the floor like a bug, Gregory.”

“This is from one person? What happened to Sherlock? Has he been stabbed? Why is he on the floor?”

“He’s had a bit of a shock. Apparently after sensing that he was safe with John, his circuits overloaded and he passed out. Still needs hospital…and probably a bit of psychiatric help as well.” 

Mycroft gazed around the room, his eyes finally stopping on the man who for all intents and purposes seemed likely to die of blood loss while the med team worked on Sherlock first.

“Pity,” Mycroft said.

Lestrade’s gaze went to the man bleeding out on the rug.

“Pity? Pity?! How could you say that Mycroft after all that man’s done?!

Mycroft remained staring down.

“Pity they’ll never be able to get all of that blood out of a white rug…Mrs Hudson could probably offer some advice.”

“Right. We’re going to hospital so that they can make sure that Sherlock’s ok, well, as ok as he can be after this. And maybe they can have a look at you too while they’re at it.” Lestrade took Greg’s arm and turned him towards the exit.

Mycroft stopped a minute and looking directly into Greg’s eyes said with complete seriousness:

“Gregory?” 

“Yes, love.”

“Do we have any white rugs?” 

“No, love.”

“Promise we’ll never get any?”

“I promise.”

“Good.”

***


	37. One Thing Leads To Another

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the case is wrapped up, and plot holes are exposed because the writer just wants to get to the consensual sex and end the story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok. So I lied. I forgot that I had to wrap up the case. If it seems hurried, just accept it. It's already a long chapter and all that's left is the hot, monkey love, thank god!

***

Sherlock had been in hospital for four days after the events that had taken place in B-Club. Two of those days he’d spent heavily sedated. Every time that Sherlock fell asleep, he’d wake up screaming and thrashing until John got into bed with him and held him until he fell back to sleep. 

This had continued into the night until John requested that the doctor sedate Sherlock in the hope that he’d be able to get some sleep without the nightmares. 

They said the usual things to John; PTSD, too much trauma over the past year. Yeah. No kidding. Sherlock was still in shock from what had happened to him in the club. No one knew when or even if, he’d recover.

Mycroft and Greg visited daily. Greg optimistic, as was his way, Mycroft dour and quiet. John wasn’t quite sure what to make of that and he suspected that Mycroft didn’t either. Everyone was just overwhelmed by it all.

John never left Sherlock’s side unless it was to bathe and dress and that only because the nursing staff had threatened to evict him otherwise. 

On the fourth day, the doctor lightened the sedation to allow Sherlock to wake up naturally but had also included a tranquilizer at John’s recommendation should he began to panic again. By that evening, he was fully awake, but drugged enough to remain calm and in a dreamlike state.

“What happened? Where am I? Where’s John?” He was beginning to sound frantic until John stepped into his view.

“I’m here, love. I’ve been here the whole time. You’ve been in hospital for the past four days. We’ve been so worried about you. How are you feeling?”

“Four days? Why? Was I injured?” Sherlock asked, puzzled.

“You did have a cut on your wrist from when you were trying to open one of the bindings holding you to the table. You lost a lot of blood requiring a transfusion from Mycroft.”

“Good lord. Wasn’t there anyone else available? I’ll never hear the end of it.”

“You’re sounding better, brother mine,” Mycroft said as he walked into the room.

“Yes and, well, thanks. I guess.” Sherlock said gruffly.

“No worries. We have the same blood type so it seemed logical that I should be the one to donate…”

“Not that,” Sherlock interrupted. “The other thing. The cane.” Sherlock bit out.

“Oh, that. I’m just glad that it could be of use.” 

Sherlock had listened to this stoically. He’d given Mycroft his thanks but that was as much as his pride would allow. He acknowledged the rest with a nod. Although they loved each other, neither one was willing to give an inch in this silly battle of theirs.

“When can I get out of here? I feel fine.” Sherlock said, sitting up and throwing the covers off his legs. He stood up and promptly sat back down again. His face as white as the sheets.

“I’d say that two more days ought to do it. Just to make sure there aren’t any injuries that were missed.” John said.

“And is that your recommendation, Doctor Watson?” Sherlock said, studying him closely. 

“Yes. Sherlock. It is. You’re still weak and can barely sit up much less stand. A couple more days and I’ll have you home where I can properly take care of you.” John smiled and Sherlock reluctantly agreed.

***

Two days later, Sherlock was released into the care of his loving doctor who spent the next two months getting him back on his feet.

“I feel like I’m starting all over again! Why? I wasn’t even injured.” Sherlock complained.

“As I’ve already told you, you lost a lot of blood, and had other injuries that needed to be seen to…”

“You could have done that from here!” Sherlock interrupted.

“And more importantly, you were in shock and needed to spend some time under observation to make sure that you were ready to go home.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes but remained silent. There wasn’t really anything he could argue about so he let the subject drop. Just as John had known he would.

***

Although John tried repeatedly to get Sherlock into counseling about everything that had happened to him, Sherlock had adamantly refused saying that he could take care of it himself then promptly entered and closed the imaginary door of his Mind Palace behind him and stayed there for hours. John was worried and kept an eye on Sherlock watching him closely for any changes, good or bad.

Eventually, Sherlock left his Mind Palace and began spending more time in the here and now with John. It had been three months since the kidnapping and things began to settle into a routine. 

Sherlock no longer flinched when John lay a hand on his shoulder and they were now able to sleep together in the same bed again. They had progressed to snuggling but if John even accidentally brushed Sherlock’s penis, he’d shy away and move as far as he could go to the other side of the bed. It broke John’s heart but with Sherlock refusing to go to therapy, he had to hope that the Mind Palace was helping him in some way. He was willing to wait for Sherlock but if this persisted, he was going to have to insist that Sherlock talk to someone to work through the horror of the last year and a half.

After another month had gone by, Sherlock finally asked the question that John had been dreading.

“Where is Chris?” Sherlock had asked out of the blue after they’d gone to bed one night.

This was a tough one to answer because John genuinely had no idea what had happened to the man and that wasn’t going to go over well. They’d been busy with Sherlock, everyone following him as he’d been placed in the ambulance still having not regained consciousness. 

“Let’s talk about it tomorrow after you’ve had a good night’s sleep.”

“I’ll have my bad news now, thank you.”

John knew when he was beaten and began to talk…

***

After Mycroft had been driven home in a bit of a daze, ‘Ice Man’ my ass, Lestrade and the newly arrived forensic team had gone back to analyze the scene and bag and tag evidence. No one was looking forward to entering the crime scene. The way the man had died was enough to have everyone swallowing back anything they’d recently eaten.

The scent of blood hit the crew long before they’d even gotten to the room. The blood was rapidly congealing into something rancid that smelled more like an abattoir than anything else.

After everyone had their hazmat suits, footies and masks on, Lestrade led the way only to stop in the doorway. Where was the body? There was an outline of where the body had been, but no body. How was that possible? Then Lestrade noticed that the murder weapon - well, presumedly there’d been a murder since there wasn’t a body and from what Lestrade could see, the casing looked not only clean but polished too and placed in the center of the bed. ‘Pretty ballsy,’ thought Lestrade.

He walked in to take a better look by pulling the sword halfway out of the hilt only to find that the sword had been completely cleaned - what he could see of it - and placed it back in it’s sheath. And there was a note:

To Sherlock with love. Thought you might want to keep this as a memento. Don’t worry about Chris. He’s being taken care of. A.

“What the hell is this? A love letter? And ‘taken care of.’ what’s that supposed to mean?” Lestrade said, turning the note over to see if there was a message included on the back. 

Placing it carefully back into its clever hiding place, Lestrade said, “Dust this thing for prints although I doubt you’ll find any.” He handed the now innocent looking cane to an attendant to deal with.

It was going to be a long, vomit inducing night. Lestrade had originally come with Mycroft and so was the only one of his team to see the body in situ. He gulped. One of the perils of hanging with the Holmes brothers; first person on scene.

“Ok, let’s get started…” 

***

“They still haven’t been able to find Chris but judging by the amount of blood at the scene, he’s presumed dead.”

“What about the brother?”

“He also seems to have disappeared,” John said, waiting for an explosion.

“Where is the cane?” Sherlock asked in a suspiciously calm tone of voice.

“Lestrade dropped it off the other day. I didn’t want to give it to you until I thought you had healed enough that it wouldn’t upset you.”

“You don’t get to decided what will “upset” me, John. I’m an adult. I can make my own decisions. Get it…please.” Sherlock had tacked on the “please” in an effort to be polite. Truth was, he was petrified of seeing that…thing again. No good memories there. Not one.

John returned from his old room carrying the box that the cane was in. He’d hidden it under his bed for the past few days waiting for the right moment to give it to Sherlock. He definitely didn’t believe that this was that moment but now he had no choice.

He walked into their bedroom to find Sherlock sitting on the side of the bed, staring into the distance just…waiting.

John began opening the box but Sherlock stopped him.

“I think that I’m quite capable of opening a box,” Sherlock said, holding his arms out as if waiting to hold a baby. 

He took the box that John handed to him and set it gently on his lap and just stared at it, trying to raise the courage to open it.

“John, could you…” Sherlock held out the box with trembling hands which he quickly hid in his lap as soon as John had taken the box back.

John opened the box but didn’t remove the cane, waiting for instructions from Sherlock.

Taking a deep breath, Sherlock kept his eyes down while holding his hands up. John placed the cane into Sherlock’s hands and waited, not knowing what kind of reaction to expect.

“It’s a beautiful killing device, isn’t it?” Sherlock said without looking up as he ran a hand across the highly polished wood of the cane.

Still, John said nothing. He knew that was a rhetorical question.

Grabbing the handle, in one quick pull, Sherlock surprised John with the sudden appearance of the blade.

Sherlock carelessly ran his hand over the back of the blade making John extremely nervous.

“I wonder if it’s still sharp. I really put it through it’s paces that day,” Sherlock said, rapidly turning the sword blade up.

“Sherlock…what are you doing?” John asked nervously.

“Checking the sharpness of the blade.” 

The lack of emotion in Sherlock’s voice was scaring John as was Sherlock’s hand hovering over the blade.

“There’s a note inside the box.” John said, trying to distract Sherlock from cutting himself.

“Probably from Lestrade or Mycroft,” Sherlock said disinterestedly.

John picked up the note which was in an evidence bag to protect it.

“It’s not Greg OR Mycroft. It’s from someone who only signed it “A.” That got Sherlock’s attention and he looked up and took the note that John was offering to him.

Sherlock read it wordlessly, lips moving along with the text. Then he began to smile.

“Good news then?” John asked.

“The very best,” Sherlock said, reading the last sentence. He lay the note face down on his lap and began laughing. 

He laughed for so long that John was about to try to shake him out of it when suddenly Sherlock spoke;

“What’s so funny?” John asked and Sherlock held the note out to him.

John read:

To Sherlock with love. Thought you might want to keep this as a memento. Don’t worry about Chris. He’s being taken care of. A.

“Memento? Why would anyone want that as a memento? And who the hell is ‘A.’?” John looked up when he heard Sherlock resheathing the sword - thank god.

“Just a friend,” Sherlock looked up at John and smiled.

“A friend? With access to the murder weapon? And what does it mean that Chris is ‘being taken care of?”

“Oh John. You worry too much. I’m suddenly famished. Let’s go to Angelo’s.” Sherlock said, with that eerily bright smile still on his face.

“Um. Ok. I’m glad that you’re hungry again. You’re nothing but skins and bones. More than usual.”

Sherlock waved that away and said, “Pajamas? These will have to be burned immediately.” Sherlock stripped to his skin in under 60 seconds flat.

He begin pushing things around in his closet as if it held the key to the universe. Shirts were flying everywhere. John guessed he’d be going to the cleaners soon now but it was worth it to see Sherlock this happy - no matter how creepy it was.

“Ah HAH!” Sherlock pulled out his plum colored shirt and all of John’s blood went immediately to his groin.

“This is your favorite shirt that I wear. Isn’t it?”

“You know it is, Sherlock.”

Sherlock began sliding a ridiculous amount of trousers through in the closet until he settled on a skin tight pair in black…what was that? Silk? Did they even make trousers out of silk? 

Sherlock already had his shirt on and was buttoning it up with amazing alacrity. He paused, and looked at John who was just staring at him opened mouthed.

“Well? What are you waiting for? I like the dark blue shirt with the grey trousers. You should wear those.” Sherlock said as he began pulling up his trousers. 

“Um, Sherlock.”

“Yes, John?” Sherlock replied pulling up the flies and buttoning the trousers.

“Haven’t you forgotten something?”

“Shoes and socks go on last, John. Everyone knows that.” Sherlock answered in good humor.

“I meant your…lack of pants.”

“I can’t wear pants with these trousers, John. They’re too tight to allow it. See?” Sherlock turned around first showing John his somehow still perfect arse, then quickly turning so that John could see the front.

“See? No room.”

“I...see a lot in those pants. Like, the side that you dress your cock.”

“Can you? Hmm…” Sherlock reached down patting said cock. “What do you know. There it is, clear as day. Don’t you like seeing my cock, John?” Sherlock asked coyly.

“What the fuck is going on? You’ve been practically catatonic for months then you read one note and I’m supposed to believe that you’re cured?”

“Yes, John. That’s exactly what I expect you to believe. Although, if I’m being honest…”

“Oh, please do.”

“I’m not completely over it and I might never be but for right now, I’m actually happy and I want to enjoy it…with you.” Sherlock picked up his cane.

“You’re not taking that out with you, are you?”

“Of course I am. It has sentimental value plus it’s a handy thing to have around which reminds me: you never answered my question.”

“What question?” John asked. He was having trouble keeping up with this hyper version of Sherlock.

“Don’t you like how these pants make my cock look? I’m wearing them for you.”

“Me and the entire restaurant,” John muttered under his breath.

“They can look but only you can touch,” Sherlock said walking to John until they were standing nose to nose.

“Feel,” Sherlock said.

“That’s ok. I don’t want to upset you,” John said, licking his lips.

“Here, I’ll start,” Sherlock said, grasping his cock through the material and rubbing it sinuously up and down until he was fully erect.

“Don’t spoil my good mood, John. I’m positively giddy and that happens once in a….well, never. We’ll be all business tomorrow but tonight I want to forget everything. Please, John.”

John was enthralled by this, he guessed, temporary version of Sherlock and god knew he’d been dying to touch that cock for ages now.

Sherlock could feel John’s decision wavering so he moved closer until both of their cocks met. Sherlock said in a breathy whisper; “Well, one of you has made their mind up. Let me help seal the deal.”

Sherlock pushed one of the shirts that he’d been throwing around, got down on his knees and began peppering John’s cock with kisses interspersed with his teeth gently rubbing up and down his length. He looked up at John who’d been watching all of this, frozen in place. 

John’s brain went numb. The only thoughts going through it were that Sherlock Holmes was on his knees in front of him wearing very, very tight trousers while blowing warm air alternating with little nips here and there and a slow slide of his hand up and down his erection. ‘Oh god. If this is a dream, I don’t ever want to wake up.’ He closed his eyes.

“Hmmm…you’re being very recalcitrant tonight. Ah! This should make up your mind!” Sherlock began unbuttoning John’s trousers then slowly slid the zip down.

John looked down and met Sherlock’s smoldering gaze as he began easing John’s cock through his pants.

“John. John!”

“Huh?”

“I want you to watch me. Are you watching?”

“I couldn’t look away if my life depended on it.”

Sherlock gave John a sensuous smile and then swallowed down his cock.

“Oh my god!” John yelled, putting his hands in Sherlock’s luscious locks and pulling him forward. 

“No touching!” Sherlock said then nipped at the edge of John’s cock causing him to wince. John removed his hands from Sherlock’s hair leaving them to clench uselessly at his sides. He felt Sherlock moan around his cock and that alone almost made him come then Sherlock released him with a pop and began setting his clothes back to rights for him.

“Wait. What are you doing?” John asked, extremely frustrated.

“We’re going out to eat and you’ve yet to change your shirt.” Sherlock said blithely. 

“But, but…I was almost there!” John cried out.

“Oh, I know. Just consider it an appetizer. Something to wet your whistle for the main course because after dinner, we’re coming home, pulling our clothes off as fast as possible and then, my dear Watson, I’m going to fuck your brains out. Now change that shirt! I’ll be in the living room waiting.”

‘Fucking goddamned cock tease,’ John thought, pulling out the clothes that Sherlock had requested and putting them on. The trousers being the worst part because he could barely get them zipped over his now rock hard erection. ‘Damn him!’

John walked into the living room to see Sherlock all ready to go out and holding John’s coat for him.

Taking a taxi to Angelo’s, John felt Sherlock shyly reach over offering his hand to hold which John gladly obliged. He was starting to get into the spirit of things and let his worries drop one by one until nothing filled his head but Sherlock and him and their night out with the promise of more in the near future. He shifted in his trousers trying to get his uncooperative stiff cock into a better position.

“My goodness, John. Those trousers look a little too tight.” Sherlock smirked.

“Shut it!”

They arrived at Angelo’s still holding hands mindless of anyone who might be staring. Angelo put them at their usual table, lighting the candles that were already in place.

“What can I get you gents? A bottle of our best wine?” He beamed down on both of them.

“Surprise us, Angelo. From appetizer to dessert. I trust your taste.” Sherlock smiled at Angelo who was acting as if he’d just been bestowed a huge honor. No one ever chose Sherlock Holmes’ food. 

“You’ll be very pleased, I won’t let you down! I’ll have cook whip up something made especially for you two and I’ll chose the wine. You won’t be disappointed!” The chubby man trundled off already yelling orders to his staff.

“You trust Angelo enough to let him pick out our food?” John asked skeptically.

“Well, I’m no gourmand but I’ve never had anything here that I haven’t enjoyed.”

“That’s good enough for me!”

Their food came and was as Angelo had promised: delicious. The wine was excellent and they went through almost three bottles which was a surprise to both of them.

They left the restaurant and drunkenly hailed a taxi in which the driver told them several times to “keep it in your trousers until you’re dropped off” this caused them both to lapse into fits of giggles. 

After five minutes spent saying ‘after you. No, after you’ all without either having pulled out their keys, Mrs Hudson had finally opened the door through which both men stumbled.

“Oh, just look at you two.” She bent down and sniffed. “Drunk as a Lord! Mycroft will hear about this, Sherlock.”

“Mycroft can blow me!” Sherlock said with a hiccup.

“Sherlock!” John and Mrs Hudson exclaimed simultaneously.

“Sorry. Sorry. That was a bit rude, wasn’t it. Mycroft can blow you first, John, it’s only proper.” Sherlock looked over at a shocked Mrs Hudson adding a little sheepishly. “Umm…I’ll leave it up to you to decide…umm…which area you’d prefer to have attention paid to. One thing’s for sure; Mycroft is going to need some paracetamol for his jaw by the time the night’s over.” Sherlock laughed.

“Oh, you two!” Mrs Hudson said in a stern tone of voice. “John, drag that drunken arse upstairs before I really do call Mycroft.”

“Don’t forget! John’s first!” Sherlock shouted as John began dragging him up the stairs.

“I’m going to bed!” Mrs Hudson turned to leave but not before hearing Sherlock’s parting shot.

“Ok but don’t blame me if you’re asleep by the time he gets to your…needs.” Mrs Hudson’s only reply was to loudly slam her door.

“Well, that was rude. Wasn’t it, John?”

“Yes. Yes it was.” Upon reaching the top of the landing, John held Sherlock against the wall with one hand while fishing the keys out of his pocket with the other and opening the door.

“In we go.” John turned Sherlock until he faced the flat and just stood there.

“What’s wrong?” 

“I have a secret to tell you. Come here…Shhh…” Sherlock gestured for a quickly sobering John to come closer. “I wouldn’t let Mycroft blow me if we were the last two men on earth!”

“That’s certainly reassuring,” John said deadpan and pushed Sherlock over the threshold, closing the door with a kick. He dragged Sherlock to the bed and dumped him face up on it. 

Picking up one foot after the other, John gently removed Sherlock’s shoes and socks then transferred his legs to the bed. He took a moment to enjoy a rare moment of his mate, partner, lover, sound asleep and he was goddamned adorable.

John removed the rest of Sherlock’s clothes, tucked him under the duvet, then leaned over and gave Sherlock a sweet kiss on the lips. 

“I love you, you nut,” John headed off to the kitchen to make a cuppa before getting under the covers and nestling into Sherlock. He was just shutting the door when heard Sherlock mumble his name.

“Yes, love?”

“I’m so tired, I don’t think that I could do you justice tonight. Rain check?” Sherlock said in a breathy sigh.

“Absolutely…I’m in no hurry. When you’re ready, just let me know. Ok?”

“‘k. Love you, John. You’re truly the best thing that ever happened to me.”

“I feel the same way. Now stop talking and go to sleep. I’ll be back as soon as I’ve had my tea.”

“‘k. Night John.”

“Good night, Sherlock,” John said but Sherlock was already fast asleep and hadn’t heard him.

He quietly shut the door and set about making his tea when his mobile rang.

“John?”

“Greg. Hi. Just getting ready to hit the hay after an entire evening at dinner and drinking with Sherlock. We’re exhausted, in fact, he’s already sound asleep.”

“This won’t take long and I wanted to talk to you anyhow, not Sherlock.

Umm…we found Chris.” Greg said clearly uncomfortable.

“And? Is he dead?”

“Oh, yeah. He’s definitely dead.”

“Care to fill me in or are you going to keep torturing me with bits and pieces?”

“Well, ironically, he was found in bits and pieces. It’s just…unsettling. It appears that he was somehow still alive before he was killed. He was…his wounds were covered in salt which had to be agonizing…

“Sounds good so far.”

“They took him to a nearby paper mill, salted his wounds then ran him through the wood processing machine - one side at a time…the look on his face. I hope I never see anything like that again in my entire life.”

“I have not one iota of pity for the man. Sherlock has to live with what was done to him for the rest of his life. I just wish I could kill him again.”

“His brother, Tommy, is still missing though.”

“Tommy?” John asked, barely listening at this point.

“Chris’s brother?”

“Right.”

“There was a note to Sherlock on Chris’ body though.”

“Oh, lord. What’s this one say?”

“It’s ever weirder than the first.”

“Dear Heart; Don’t worry about Tommy. He’s found a part-time job as a test subject in a study. I’m afraid that the survival rate isn’t very good but you win some, you lose some. Fondly. I.B.A.”

“And who the hell is that?” John asked.

“I suspect that it’s Irene, Becca, and Adam but I won’t be putting that information in the file,” Greg said.

“Why not?” Asked John.

“Well, unfortunately it’s already been lost and that would be embarrassing to the department if we had to admit to losing evidence. We can’t go in with the “because I saw it” defense as our only evidence.” Greg smiled.

“Greg, I think that you’ve been hanging around with Mycroft a little too much.”

“I know. Isn’t it grand?”


	38. The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What? A wedding? Who knew? I sure as hell didn't!
> 
> Almost forgot, not reviewed - at all. Isn't that exciting?!

***

Two Years After The Rape

“Well, that went better than I expected,” John said.

“What do you mean? It was perfect,” Sherlock huffed.

“You’re just not very good at Best Man speeches,” John said, putting a hand on Sherlock’s shoulder.

“What do you mean? That speech was perfect! I researched examples of acceptable toasts and picked the best parts for the speech. Didn’t you notice the people in the audience smiling? Everyone loved it!” Sherlock said, frowning angrily.

“It was a lovely speech. Truly. Except for that last bit…” John hesitated.

“That was the best part!”

“There was no reason to mention that Mycroft used to be “grossly obese” growing up but as long as he maintained his current exercise regimen, he should have no trouble satisfying his husband sexually.”

“But…” Sherlock sputtered. “That was the best bit! I was giving him a compliment and reminding him not to get fat again at the same time. A very economical use of a compliment added with a logical recommendation. Honestly, John. Mycroft was pleased when I finished.”

“Mycroft was relieved that you were finished.” John put a hand behind Sherlock’s neck and pulled him close so that they were touching foreheads. “I don’t want to argue. Besides, the grooms are about to have the first dance followed by the bridal party and I’ve been looking forward to this dance for a long time,” John said, giving Sherlock a flirtatious smile.

“What a silly tradition. Who cares what order people step onto the dance floor?” Sherlock complained, tugging on his bow tie.

John moved his hand down and covered Sherlock’s to stop his fidgeting with the tie.

“You look very handsome in that tuxedo, Sherlock. And sexy. Very sexy.” John removed his hand from the bow tie and smoothed it down slowly until he’d reached Sherlock’s narrow waist, pulling him close.

“I can’t wait to get you up to our room,” John said, rubbing Sherlock’s cock against his own.

“Why? Are you tired already?” 

John sighed and with some exasperation in his voice, said;

“No. I’m not tired. I’m looking forward to having you all to myself. No interruptions…”

“We would have been alone in our flat too. Why Mycroft felt the need to have his wedding in the middle of nowhere when there are perfectly good halls closer to home…well, it makes no sense. Have the reverend say a few nonsensical words, which he should know by heart by now - and pronounce them married. Kiss, kiss. Off to the reception. In fact, they could have been married during the reception and saved us all a lot of time and trouble. 

These are all things that could have been done in London then everyone would have been able to go home whenever they wanted to leave. Now we’re all trapped here. Like rats.”

“Mycroft generously paid for everyone’s lodging so that they didn’t have to make the long drive home if they didn’t want to. I thought that was really very sweet.”

“Ugh. Spare me from sentimental nonsense. Why did they get married anyhow? They’ve been mated for months now which is more legally binding anyway. All this just to watch you and your mate sign your name in a book and then dance. It is a good way to get gifts though, I’ll give you that.” 

John stepped back from Sherlock and took his other hand from his pocket where he had been fondling the ring box that he’d planned on presenting to Sherlock later that night. John felt as if his heart had dropped to the floor and landed under Sherlock’s feet where it was ground into a bloody pulp.

“And the all the pictures?! I wasn’t aware that there was going to be a photoshoot before they’d let us go to the reception. I don’t see why we couldn’t just have gone to the reception without all of that other nonsense. And, just how many pictures are necessary? They’ll never even look at most of them. I predict that it will all go into a folder on Mycroft and Lestrade’s desktops to be used as a sentimental screen savers. Which they’ll get used to seeing and eventually ignore. Disgusting waste of time and hard drive space.”

“Greg and Mycroft are getting ready to dance and then we’re up. Paste a smile on that sour puss of yours and try to remember that today isn’t about you and your selfish feelings. Do you think you can do that?” 

“What’s wrong with you? You sound irritated. Probably all this waiting. Don’t worry, I’m an excellent actor. No one will realize just how desperately I want to get out of here.”

“Yes. It’s going to be that happy smile on your face that does it.”

Sherlock snorted. “You forget, John, that I can be a great actor when I choose to be.”

“Ok. Do that then. We’re up. Ready?” John held out a hand to Sherlock leading him out onto the dance floor. 

“Remember. I’m leading this time. You can lead for the next dance,” John said.

“Oh lord. There’s more than one?”

“Just…shut up.” John said placing a hand on Sherlock’s waist and using the other to hold his hand and they began dancing. They made a lovely couple and there were many oohs and aahs as the guests watched what looked like a couple in love and in no way as the two irritated people they really were.

Sherlock leaned close to John’s ear and said;

“This music is awful. OW!”

“Oh. Sorry. Sometimes I’m so clumsy. Does your foot hurt much?” John asked innocently.

Sherlock looked down at John through narrowed eyes and said; “Fine, I’ll stop complaining. Happy?”

“Yes!” John pulled Sherlock closer until they were hip to hip, John practically grinding his semi-hard cock against Sherlock’s which seemed to be very happy at this change of events.

“John!” Sherlock hissed. “We’re in public! You’re giving the impression that we’re having sex on the dance floor when, in fact, we’ve yet to consummate our relationship.”

“Since when do you care what people think? No one’s watching us, they’re busy stalking their prey for the night. Wait until they’ve had a few drinks in them. That’s when the party really starts.” 

John met Sherlock’s eyes and Sherlock was surprised to find that they were suspiciously shiny. 

“Can we please just enjoy this without your analyzing everything and taking the joy out of it? Just this once? For me?” 

Sherlock realized that he was being an arse - which was a rare occurrence - and determined to make it up to John. No more doom and gloom - for tonight. Sherlock was a reasonable man; he’d save it for the drive home. 

“Yes, John. I know that it might not seem like it sometimes, but I really do love you. Tonight’s your night. Let’s have fun!”

“Really?” John asked hopefully.

“Well, technically it’s Mycroft and Greg’s night…”

“You know his name!” 

“Only for tonight. It’s one of my gifts to the newly wedded couple.”

“Ah. The music has changed and they’re calling everyone to come eat. Shall we?” John said, putting an arm out to lead Sherlock to the table that had been set up for the wedding party.

***

After dinner, the revelers hit the dance floor with much enthusiasm. It eventually became time for the bouquet toss to which Sherlock was utterly oblivious. All he knew is that one minute he was talking to John and the next, a projectile was headed his way which he casually reached up and caught without even looking. It was just instinct.

John started laughing.

“What?” Asked Sherlock. “What’s funny.”

John nodded at the object in Sherlock’s right hand. He hadn’t even replied that he reflexively caught something.

“Flowers? Who the bloody hell throws flowers at people during a reception? Someone could have been hurt.”

“Not you, though, my love.”

“Well, of course not me. I have amazing instincts and I wasn’t about to let some projectile hit you in the head.” Sherlock huffed indignantly.

“Sherlock Holmes, you’re my hero.” John said in a sing songy voice.

“What on earth is wrong with your voice and what am I meant to do with these blasted flowers?”

“Well, you caught the wedding bouquet.” John said with a smile.

“And just what the hell does that mean? Who threw this at me? It seemed intentional.” Sherlock said, working himself into a fine lather.

“I think that if you’ll look over there, you’ll find the culprit.” John said, nodding to the grooms.

“Mycroft!”

“Yep. Mycroft. Seems it was intentional then. If the laughter he’s trying to contain is any indication.”

“Well, he can just have them back!” Sherlock put his arm back to throw the flowers at Mycroft but John stopped him.

“Why did you stop me?! I’m insulted!”

“You shouldn’t be. It’s an honor to catch the bouquet.”

“Will there be more flower tossing because that’s something I might enjoy. I’d imagine a lily to the eye could be very painful.” Sherlock said speculatively.

“No. That’s it for the flower toss and now they’re yours. Put them in the water pitcher on our table for now.”

“Ridiculous traditions followed for ridiculous reasons by ridiculous people…” Sherlock grumbled on his way to the table.

Next thing that John knew, something smacked him in the face. He looked down to see what it was. Oh lord. The garter. He looked over and saw Greg give him a wink. It was a setup! They’d been setup!

Sherlock returned and looked at the lacy band John now held in his hands.

“What’s that?”

“A garter. Seems like you were right; these things were thrown at us intentionally.” John said, smiling.

“What’s funny now? And who uses garters anymore? Old men in Parliament to keep their socks from falling down? And who threw that at you?”

“That would be Greg.” John said, giving Greg a rueful look which was just returned with a huge grin.

“These people are drunk. Let’s take our…flowers and garter and leave these people to do whatever it is that you at these things in the middle of the night.”

“Ah. I’m afraid that we can’t leave just yet. We have something left to do. Go get your flowers and meet me on the middle of the dance floor.” John hadn’t even known that the bouquet toss and garter removal were happening. Sherlock was going to love this.

“These aren’t my flowers,” Sherlock said, waving them in John’s face. “All I did was catch them.”

“Well, they’re yours now. John grabbed Sherlock’s hand and escorted him to the middle of the dance floor where a chair had been placed with guests surrounding it. Mycroft and Greg being in front…expectant looks on their faces.

“Sit in the chair, Sherlock.” John told him.

“Why?” Sherlock asked suspiciously.

“So we can get this tradition over with and go to bed.”

“Oh. Well, if it will let us leave by all means, I’ll sit.”

The DJ started playing the traditional striptease music…

“Has this turned into a burlesque show now?” Sherlock asked, confusion writ all over his face.

“Well, sort of.” John got down on one knee while Sherlock clumsily held the flowers in his lap.

“John!” Sherlock hissed. “Just what the hell do you think you’re doing?!”

“Why, putting the garter on you, darling.”

“What? Garter? Wasn’t that Greg’s? Why would I want a used garter and what would I do with it?”

“You said that you’re a good actor so act like you know what’s going on.”

“Fine, but hurry it up. Bored!”

The music had been playing the entire time when John reached for the cuff of Sherlock’s very tight, very expensive trousers and began sliding the leg up in a very slow and sexy motion until he’d bared Sherlock’s leg just below the knee.

As far as acting went, Sherlock was gobsmacked and had no idea what was going on so he sat there, frozen, allowing his lower leg to be exposed to the audience.

Slipping the garter over Sherlock’s shoe, he moved it sinuously up Sherlock’s calf all the way to the top of his thigh in a somehow incredibly hot manner. This was helped along by John’s light touch on the back of Sherlock’s calf and sneaking up to touch the inside of his thigh. Which wasn’t easy given how tight his trousers were and the sudden erection that was rapidly making itself known to John’s questing fingers. Sherlock held the bouquet tighter to his lap as John snapped the garter in place and lowered his trouser leg.

Then John leaned forward and kissed Sherlock softly on the lips. He pulled back and looked into Sherlock’s and whispered “I love you” which was returned with a smoldering kiss from Sherlock.

“I love you too.” Sherlock whispered back as applause broke out.

“Are you ever going to tell me what that was all about?” Sherlock asked as the crowd dispersed and began dancing again.

“Later, love. Later.”

***

2 Hours And Too Much Alcohol Later…

“Where did you go? We were supposed to leave hours ago.” Sherlock asked as John pulled his chair out and sat down.

“I just made a special request to the DJ for our last dance before we go to our room.”

“I didn’t know that you could do that,” Sherlock said, beginning to stand up until John grabbed his hand and pulled him back down.

“There’s one more song and then we can leave. Ok?”

“Yes, John.”

“That was awfully agreeable. Are you drunk?” Asked John who wasn’t feeling any pain himself at the moment.

“Tipsy. I might be tipsy. Just a little.”

John leaned over, pulled Sherlock over to him and kissed him passionately.

“Just this last dance and we can leave. Promise.” 

‘Good lord. Tonight might be the night!’ Sherlock thought. ‘Am I ready? Yes. Ok. This was the perfect setting to have their first time.’ 

Sherlock kissed John back just as passionately and some groping had started when they were interrupted by the hiss of the microphone as the DJ announced;

“This song is dedicated from John to the love of his life, Sherlock.”

As the music began playing, John led a red-faced Sherlock once again to the dance floor. 

“I chose this song especially for us. It’s how I feel about you. You’re my love, my heart, my everything.” They kissed softly as Roberta Flack began singing;

The first time ever I saw your face  
I thought the sun rose in your eyes  
And the moon and the stars were the gifts you gave  
To the dark and the endless skies, my love  
To the dark and the endless skies

And the first time ever I kissed your mouth  
I felt the earth move in my hand  
Like the trembling heart of a captive bird  
That was there at my command, my love  
That was there at my command, my love

And the first time ever I lay with you  
I felt your heart so close to mine  
And I knew our joy would fill the earth  
And last 'til the end of time, my love  
And it would last 'til the end of time, my love

The first time ever I saw your face  
Your face  
Your face  
Your face

“Let’s go upstairs, John and correct that second to last paragraph. ”

“Yes. Let’s.” 

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You have to listen to that song as sung by Roberta Flack to really appreciate it. She puts a lot of feeling in what little lyrics she has to work with. That and it's super romantic.
> 
> Look it up on YouTube because I doubt the link below will work
> 
> Robert Flack  
> The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face
> 
> https://youtu.be/VqW-eO3jTVU


	39. Oh How The Tables Have Turned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock's sexual awakening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, I'm not going to lie, I was half asleep when I wrote this so if it feels uneven, I apologize. Once I go to sleep I might just wake up and trash this entire chapter and write a new one so this one might be short lived.
> 
>  
> 
> Debbie

***

Hands clasped, John and Sherlock walked to the elevator, perhaps staggering, just a little. They were standing so closely that it was difficult to see where one man ended and the other began. It was late, no one was around, although half the wedding party still seemed to be going strong.

“I’d like to try tonight. For our first time, I mean. What do you think?” Sherlock asked John shyly once they entered their room.

John’s answer was to wrap one arm around Sherlock’s waist and draw him closer while he used his left hand to slowly pull Sherlock’s bowtie undone. He then removed Sherlock’s jacket and began to slowly unbutton his shirt. While his pulse raced, Sherlock’s cock thickened almost painfully.

“John. I hate to admit this but I’m nervous.”

“I know, love. I know. But there’s no hurry and no rule that says that anything needs to happen tonight. We’re going at your pace and let me tell you; you’re worth the wait.” John said, kissing Sherlock’s cheek softly.

“I don’t want to bottom. Not the first time. I have some…memories that haven’t quite gone away and I’m not sure they ever will.”

“Even if we never get further than cuddling and kissing, it doesn’t matter to me. You’re the man I want to spend the rest of my life with, sex is just a bonus but one that I can live without. You, however…” John softly kissed Sherlock’s lips. “Are my life and I can’t imagine it without you in it. You’re all I need to be happy. You. Not sex. I want you, not your cock. I mean, that’d be a bonus, but that’s all. If I never have sex again, that’s fine. So I don’t want you to ever feel guilty because you think I’m missing something or that I feel neglected. You really are all that I need. Got it?”

“Got it,” Sherlock said, voice hitching and a little teary eyed.

“So don’t feel like we have to do anything tonight or ever. We can go to bed, watch the telly, whatever you want to do, it’s your choice.”

“I think…I think I’d like it very much if you undressed me and touched me. Not necessarily in a sexual way, I just really want to be touched. Everything that was done to me was very impersonal. I want to feel…cherished, loved. Not like some inanimate object that is used, then thrown away. Does that make any sense?”

“Of course it does! It makes perfect sense. Everything that happened to you was against your will. You didn’t want it, never asked for it, something very special was taken away from you…” John paused.

“Let me stop you right there. I know what you’re thinking and you can stop it right now. I truly don’t blame you for what happened and I need you believe me or we’ll just continue on in our own personal hell. I don’t know about you, but I’m sick of it controlling everything I do. I’m not saying that it’s going to magically get better but if I always feel like you see me as a victim, then that’s all I’ll ever be and that’s not what I want. I know it’s not what you want either so tonight’s a fresh start. With every touch, you let me know how guilty you feel. How can I get past what was done to me if the person I love is constantly agonizing over what happened when they are truly blameless. Ok. Can you do that for me?”

“God. I’m sorry, Sherlock. I know what you’re saying and I’ll change. I can’t promise that the guilt will instantly go away but I’ll stop treating you as if you were this fragile item to be looked at but not touched.” John said, with a little sniff that he tried, but failed to hide.

“Kiss me, John. Please.” John placed tiny butterfly kisses at the corners of Sherlock’s mouth then kissed him softly until the kiss turned into something different. Something that was passionate and full of love.

John stepped away from Sherlock and held his hand pulling him into the bedroom.

“Oh!” Sherlock sighed.

“Oh!” John agreed looking at a bed that was covered in rose petals. 

“Did you…?” They both asked simultaneously and answered ‘no’ the same way.

“There’s a note.” Sherlock said. John picked it up and they stood shoulder to shoulder as they read it.

Sherlock/John:

We thought it time that you two moved along in your courtship and if it meant renting out an entire hotel to do it, well, that’s what we did. You didn’t think that we had our wedding at the ass end of the country for no reason, did you? 

You’re perfect for each other, you just haven’t had the time that other bonded couples normally have once they start their new life together. This is your opportunity. Relax. Call room service. Stay in or go out, the room is yours for the next two weeks, all expenses are covered. You have no obligation to be anywhere and no one will be looking for you. This time is for you. Let yourselves relax and enjoy it. You two deserve it.

With Love,

Mycroft and Greg Lestrade - Holmes

P.S. Greg insisted that I tell you that there’s a full sized Jacuzzi and a sauna. I assured him that you’d both figure it out but what can I do? I love him.

Yes. Yes. There’s a basket of goodies to help you during your bonding time. Greg. That’s enough! They’re adults. They’ll figure out how to use everything.

Good lord! The man’s exhausting but I love him so.

“Well, that was…” John started.

“Really chatty for Mycroft, don’t you think? I see Greg’s fingerprints all over the roses and the basket of “goodies,” Sherlock said laughing.

“Me too. Now, where were we…”

“I do believe that you were about to undress me.” Sherlock smiled somewhat shyly.

“Well, first I’m going to undress you, very slowly. You’re too precious a gift not to be savored.” John said, removing Sherlock’s tuxedo jacket and throwing it on a nearby chair. 

“Then I’m going to remove those cufflinks followed by unbuttoning each tiny button on your shirt.”

John held out his hand for Sherlock to take and removed first one and then the other cuff link and placed them on the nightstand and followed that up by undoing every button on his shirt just as slowly as he’d promised. It was maddening.

John removed the shirt and threw it where it landed with the jacket.

Unbuckling Sherlock’s belt, John pulled it slowly and sensuously out of each loop causing Sherlock to shiver.

“Ok? We can stop.” John asked, voice full of concern.

“No. I…I like it. I’m just nervous.”

“If you want to stop at any time, just let me know. Ok?

“Ok.”

John pulled Sherlock’s now topless body against him and leaning down, licked first one nipple, then the other. Sherlock sighed.

Sherlock began kissing John enthusiastically as he slid his hand down Sherlock’s silky trousers, unbuttoning them with ease. Before he undid the zip, John slid his hand inside the front of Sherlock’s trousers and softly just lay his hand over Sherlock’s cock. He wasn’t trying to arouse him, just get him used to his touch but it seemed that his touch had caught his cock’s interest because it slowly became engorged with blood until it stood stiff and proud against Sherlock’s abdomen just below his belly button. John was a little nervous having forgotten the size of that Alpha cock. He hoped that that basket contained some helpful aids or this had the potential of being very painful for John and it wasn’t that John cared about the pain, he was concerned that it might upset Sherlock to think that he’d hurt him so once he had Sherlock on the bed, he’d bring the basket over to investigate.

John slipped off first one and then the other of Sherlock’s shoes. The socks quickly followed.

“I’m going to unzip your trousers now. Are you still ok?”

“Yes. I’m…well my cock seems very ok with how things are progressing,” Sherlock said, smiling.

John smiled and unzipped Sherlock’s trousers; with a soft swish of the fabric they slid off of his body on their own.

Sherlock stood naked before him and he was beautiful.

“Would you like me to take my clothes off or leave them on?” John asked without pressure.

“On for now,” Sherlock said bashfully but John could tell that he was turned on by how things were proceeding. Good. He was trying to be very careful so as not to spook him and ruin the progress that they’d made so far.

“I’d love to lay you down on the rose petals. Is that ok?”

Sherlock hesitated. This was a scary part; lying naked on a bed waiting for whatever was going to happen.

“Ok,” Sherlock replied but John could hear the nervous hesitation in his voice.

“While you’re lying down, I’ll go get the basket and see what Mycroft and Greg thought were appropriate gifts for a newly mated couple.” John would have his back to Sherlock hoping that this would offer him some sense of security and control over what was happening.

When John returned to the bed, he was surprised to see Sherlock running his hands through the rose petals. His erection had deflated but John had been surprised that there’d been one in the first place so he knew that he must be doing something a little right. Lord, he was nervous.

“So soft. Nothing like the cold, metal tables that they tied me to.” Sherlock said this distantly as if he didn’t want to think about it and ruin the magic of the moment.

John set the basket on the floor and looked expectantly at Sherlock.

“Would you like to look at the contents together?”

“I think that I’d like to see you undress yourself - slowly - first.” Sherlock said, smiling.

“Your wish is my command.” John said, beginning to take his jacket off.

“Wait. I want to tell you what to do.”

Shrugging his jacket back on, John waited for the next command.

“Kick off your shoes then take off your socks.”

John complied.

“Turn around, your back facing me, and slowly remove your jacket.”

John arched his back allowing his jacket to slip off all at once landing in a puddle at his feet.

“Cufflinks next, I think.” The cufflinks were placed alongside Sherlock’s.

“Now, turn sideways so that I can see your profile and slowly unbutton your shirt.”

John obligingly turned revealing a massive erection. It was quite impressive and Sherlock had a brief thought flash through his head that he was glad that he wasn’t bottoming this time.

As John began unbuttoning his shirt, Sherlock became impatient.

“Come over here.” Sherlock commanded.

Sitting up, Sherlock grasped both sides of the shirt and ripped them neatly down the middle. What little blood had been in his brain now deserted him for his cock. He wouldn’t be able to follow the simplest directions soon.

Sherlock was definitely aroused if his stiff cock was anything to go by.

“Trousers and pants off, now!” 

John complied with a speed that would have impressed his drill sergeant.

Standing there in all his naked glory, John stood still as Sherlock studied him avidly.

“Pick up the basket and hand it to me, then turn around.”

John could hear Sherlock rummaging through the basket with the occasional “ahh” and then “what is this for?” For all he knew, Mycroft could have sent them a basket of kitchen utensils. He desperately wanted to turn around and look but didn’t dare. 

“Come closer to the bed. Don’t stop until you feel my hand on your buttocks.”

Ok. John could honestly say that he’d never had a sexual experience like this in his life. And he sure as hell couldn’t have explained why it made him so hot to be ordered around by Sherlock but there it was. Learn something new every day. 

John backed up until he felt Sherlock’s hand on his right cheek, then stopped.

“Bend over.”

‘Bend over?’ Things were really getting interesting now.

John bent over placing his hands on his knees for support. Not the most dignified position but he was dying to know what would happen next. He found out when he felt a well lubed finger easily glide through his anus and into his rectum. Sherlock began to slowly finger fuck John until he thought he might come right then and there. But then another finger was added and swirled around searching for and finding John’s prostate.

“Oh. Oh god.” John groaned and the fingers instantly withdrew.

“I’m sorry, John. I’m new to this. Did I hurt you?”

“No. Quite the opposite. Don’t worry. I’ll let you know if you hurt me. Right now, though? Please don’t stop.”

John felt the fingers slide in again instantly finding his prostate giving it a glancing brush. John’s breath caught and he fought the temptation to push back against Sherlock’s fingers.

When Sherlock removed his fingers again, John was left feeling frustrated. That wouldn’t do. He needed to calm down or he was coming to come on this lovely rug.

He took some calming breaths but was still startled when he felt Sherlock grasp both of his cheeks and pulled them apart exposing his anus. He felt vulnerable and uncertain of what might happen next.

Whatever he’d been imaging, it hadn’t been Sherlock tentatively licking his arsehole followed by the occasional penetration by Sherlock’s tongue.

God, this was torturous and John was loving every minute of it - except the part where he was trying not to come.

Sherlock stopped what he was doing (‘dammit’) and asked, “Do you like this, John? Do you like me licking your hole?” He asked somewhat breathlessly. 

“God, yes. It’s amazing!” And it was.

“Has anyone ever done that to you before?”

“Never.”

“So, that would make me your first then. I like that.” Sherlock said and then started sucking at the delicate tissues of his hole. John didn’t know how long he could last. This was already a record of self-control. It wouldn’t last forever though. 

Just then, he felt Sherlock insert his fingers again followed by a third which was just shy of being uncomfortable but he wasn’t complaining. 

“That position must be hard on your back. Why don’t you get into bed with me. Turn on your right side, head facing my feet. Good. Now, move up a little until your mouth is near my cock.” John obeyed this command as well, he was so excited that he was afraid that he might not be able to come at all, his cock was that engorged.

“Suck my cock, John.” 

John sucked Sherlock’s cock like a man dying of thirst. He wasn’t even thinking, just sucking and pulling Sherlock closer by his hips. He paused briefly when he felt Sherlock insert those three fingers back into his arse and then he took John’s cock in his mouth and started sucking him while fucking his ass with his fingers. John was going to lose it any minute. He deserved an award for lasting this long. 

He felt Sherlock remove this fingers then something much larger was poised at his entrance. He hesitated for a minute and then;

“Did I tell you to stop sucking my cock, John?”

“Naa…no.” John stuttered.

“Then get back to it.”

“Yes, sir,” he said, taking Sherlock’s cock back into his mouth and sucking and licking it. At this moment, sucking Sherlock’s cock had become the only important thing to him. He wanted to please Sherlock. Had to. He didn’t think about anything else other than making Sherlock feel good.

Suddenly, the large item at his entrance slowly began to penetrate him and even with the lube, it hurt. He couldn’t concentrate and stopped what he was doing.

“John, why did you stop? Was I going too slowly for you?” He asked right before sliding whatever it was deeply into his arse. He took a deep breath but continued sucking Sherlock’s cock. Sherlock would tell him when he could stop. His only goal was pleasing Sherlock.

“John. Stop.” John obeyed immediately.

“I’m going to fuck you now. Get on your hands and knees facing the end of the bed.”

His movements were amazingly quick, especially considering that he was holding an Alpha-sized dildo inside of him.

When he was in the position that Sherlock had demanded, he waiting for the next instruction but Sherlock didn’t say anything and John had the feeling that he was just admiring John’s ass and the dildo that was inserted there.

“I’ve lubed up my cock, John. Are you ready for me?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“I like that. Call me ‘Sir’ in bed from now on.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Unless you want me to penetrate you with that dildo up your arse, I’d remove it. Now!”

It was a little slippery and difficult to grasp but then he finally got a hold of it and pulled it right out throwing it on the floor.

“I’m ready, Sir.”

“So am I,” Sherlock said, lining himself up with John’s hole and easily sliding his cock in as far as it would go. He began fucking John so fast that his cock slipped out and he had to shove it in again.

“I’m getting ready to knot you, John. Are you ready?

“Yes, Sir.”

“Good. I don’t want you to come until my knot has completely filled you, then you can come…when I say so. Got it?”

“Yes, Sir.”

John could feel Sherlock’s knot swelling inside of him but it hadn’t reached the point where they’d be locked together. In the next moment, Sherlock cried out; “I’m coming, John. I’m coming. Wait for it!” He commanded then Sherlock reached around and began jerking John off. John was panting and sweating trying not to come.

“Are you ready to come, John?”

“Yes, Sir!”

“I’m about to come again so when you feel me filling you up, come. Do you hear me? When I’ve started my second orgasm, I want you to come. Right. Then. Oh god, now! Do it! Come!”

As John felt Sherlock coming inside of him for the second time in five minutes, John finally was able to come too and it felt amazing! It was the best orgasm he’d ever had.

“Come here and we’ll cuddle until my knot goes down. Afterwards, I might fuck you again; I haven’t decided yet.”

“Yes, Sir,” John sighed, already falling asleep.

“John?”

“Sir?” 

“I love you with all of my heart. Thank you for letting me do this. It was…very freeing for some reason.”

“You’ve been holding in a lot of anger all this time. It’s good to get it out. Let’s go to sleep now.” John said, patting Sherlock’s hip.

“John?” Sherlock whispered.

“Hmmm?”

“I think I’m what they call a ‘Dom’. Do you think that’s ok?”

“Well, it was good for me but my arse is going to hurt like hell in the morning.”

“Oh. Don’t worry. There’s a cream for that in the basket too.”

“Thas good. Nite nite. I love you.”

As his knot slipped free, Sherlock gave John a gentle kiss to the back of his neck. “Love you too.”

“Oh. Almost forgot.” John said, leaning over and grabbing his jacket from the floor, he produced a small ring box. Opening it, he presented the plain platinum band to Sherlock.

“Sherlock Holmes, even though you think marriage is stupid, will you do me the honor of marrying me?”

“Yes!” Sherlock yanked the ring out and put it on the ring finger of his left hand.

John watched as Sherlock admired it and was puzzled.

“I thought you said that marriage was stupid.”

“John! I was playing hard to get.” Sherlock said, exasperated.

“Whatever you say, sweetie,” John said and promptly fell asleep.

“John Watson, what would I have done if you hadn’t walked into my life?”

“Hmmm?”

“Nothing. Nite.

“Nite.”

***

Three Weeks Later

“Well, where the hell are they? I said two weeks and it’s been three!” Mycroft bellowed.

“Myc, they’re newlyweds. Give them a break.”

“Well, they weren’t newlyweds when we set this up! How dare they get married without telling me!”

“You threw the bouquet at Sherlock, who nearly threw it back at you and I almost put John’s eye out with the garter. We both wanted them to get married. Complaining now because it’s not a convenient time for you is a bit selfish.”

“Well, I AM selfish!”

“No you’re not, honey. You’re my sweetie pie.” Greg said, sliding closer to Mycroft in their big bed.

“Well, just to you. No one else knows that!”

“I know, you big softie, you.” Greg said. 

“I’ve had people killed, you know! I had that Donovan woman posted out to the hicks. Serves her right for tormenting Sherlock all the time.”

“I knew you had a hand in that. Your fingers were all over her transfer.”

“Are you mad?” Mycroft asked surprisingly timid.

“Nah. I hate that bitch.”

***

“Tommy, don’t be such a big baby!” Becca said.

“I don’t want to do this anymore. Where’s my brother?!” Tommy demanded, practically in tears.

“Oh, he’s around.” Becca said vaguely.

“He’s not! He’d never let you do these things to me! You wait until I find him! Then you’ll be sorry!”

“Believe me, I’m sorry already.”

“You can’t keep doing this to me! I’m no whore!”

“Prostitute, honey. Whores don’t get paid. Besides, you have a new customer that I need to prep you for.”

Just then, the door to the exam room opened a large man filling the entrance.

“Adam! Adam! You’ve gotta help me! Her and Irene are forcing me to be a prostitute!” 

“You mean like the 25 people that were finally released last month from your brother’s hiding place? Like those people?” Adam asked.

“That was just business. Besides, I had nothing to do with it!” Tommy whined.

“Whatever.” Adam turned to Becca.

“Is he ready?”

“Just finishing up then he’s all yours. How do you want him?”

“I think I’d like to try a repeat of the breeding stand that we used with Holmes. That looked like fun.”

“Excellent choice. I’ll have him taken to the room and readied for you.”

“Thanks for . Oh, and please gag him this time. He squeals like a pig.”

“Will do.

“Wait until my brother hears about this!” Tommy shouted as he was being dragged away. 

“Good one!” Then Becca and Adam both laughed. A little too loudly and a little too long.


End file.
